Book Two: Blood
by flutflutflyer
Summary: While a civil war rips apart mortal and spirit worlds alike, Avatar Korra finds herself fighting a reawakened Equalist movement, a triad uprising, and the demons within herself. Fortunately, she doesn't have to do it alone. Eventual Borra.
1. Introduction

Earth. Fire. Air. Water. Only the Avatar can master all four elements. Only the Avatar can bring balance to the world. Only, the Avatar . . . can fail.

We have seen Korra grow from a headstrong girl fighting her way out of everything to a mature woman on the road to becoming a fully realised Avatar, her spiritual side finally awakened, granting her the ability to access the Avatar State, though not, perhaps, by choice. Yet a few questions still remain. What of the rest of the Equalist movement and the very real inequality faced by the benders? What of the triad turf war, last mentioned brewing around the time of the Revelation? What of Amon's mask, floating by itself in Yue Bay? What of the city, hope destroyed and splintered, a desperate need for reconstruction at hand? And what of the council, whose members are still missing or presumed dead?

Although Korra can access the other elements in the continuous Avatar State, she has neither true control over it nor the ability to bend earth, fire, or water outside of the state. Now she must undertake a journey to not only master the awesome power granted to her by the spirits but also regain what she has lost. Along the way, she encounters familiar faces, both friend and foe in a quest stretching from the poverty-stricken streets of triad territory to the frozen wastes outside Republic City, the road fraught with a kidnapping by the Equalists, an uprising amongst the triads, a seed of inception that grows into a monster, a betrayal by the one thought most dedicated to the cause, a rescue from an unexpected ally, a sacrifice by the one who may hold the key to salvation, and a shocking revelation that may destroy the Avatar cycle forever.

While a civil war rips apart mortal and spirit worlds alike and their lives come crashing around them, Avatar Korra and her friends must try to mend what has been broken, find what has been lost, and put together the shattered fragments of their lives if they hope to survive the storm to come.

For this era of Republic City will be written in blood.


	2. Return to Republic City, Part One

Earth. Fire. Air. Water.

Only the Avatar can master all four elements and bring balance to the world.

* * *

_With Amon defeated and Republic City saved, Avatar Korra was left with nothing but airbending, but just when hope seemed lost, she connected with her past lives and gained access to the Avatar State and the power to restore bending. What a doozy! What a hero! What a fantastic day for Republic City! Yes, folks, it seems like nothing could go wrong for our hero now._

* * *

血

Book Two

**Blood**

Chapter One

**Return to Republic City**

* * *

Light. Sound. Colour. The great stadium of the Pro-bending Arena, just weeks ago besmirched with the symbols of the Equalists, restored to its former glory, glowing golden in the evening air scented with snow. Overhead, a thin crescent moon curves into the sky, as though the Moon Spirit were smiling down upon the massive crowd roiling as the citizens of Republic City flood inside the arena, a palpable charge of excitement and anxiety electrifying the air. Waves of people roll up, taking seats on the rising stands, gazes trained not on the covered hexagon in the centre but on the platform up above, the screams of terrified airbenders still echoing faintly from the resonant wood, the banner hanging on the wall one of the great Avatar Korra, eyes shining a brilliant silver, her infinite past lives stretching out behind her.

Standing on the stage in front of a raised podium and looking out at the multi-coloured sea of spectators, Korra doesn't feel that _great_; in fact, her legs and stomach appear to have been replaced with jelly. The warmth of Mako's hand in hers allows her to inhale deeply to steady her nerves.

"You're going to be fine." He squeezes her hand; she glances at him, his smile more than enough to give her the motivation to step up.

Tenzin is already speaking, his dark red and orange robes flowing like water over the sides of the podium, Lin Beifong waiting patiently at his right side. "The power to strip bending was never Amon's to have, and so, as water in the bowl reaching equilibrium, the Avatar will return what has been lost to the world and restore the balance." The masses roar, reminding her of the surf crashing against the shore. Bowing, Tenzin returns the microphone to its place and walks off of the podium, pausing to incline her head at Korra, the respect in his gaze putting even more pressure on her. His fingers touch her shoulder. "My father would be proud, Avatar Korra."

Korra nods, the jelly trembling even more, and takes the microphone in a slightly shaking hand. The panic within her balloons. What if she can't do the bending-restoring again? What if she doesn't recall her speech? What if? Her gaze rakes the horde, fishing for a very specific person: There, in the front, seated next to Asami, is Bolin. When he notices her, he waves, the optimism in his bright green eyes giving the strength to continue. "People of Republic City, I am Avatar Korra." A pool of reporters in the pit directly in front of the stadium start to snap photographs immediately, their voices reaching her in a rushing tsunami, a dozen questions called out at once. Her initial instinct is to tell them to shut up, but instead she calms herself and waits for the inquiries to stop. "Amon took my bending away from me." A gasp runs through the crowd, a ripple through the lake. "But, as the Avatar, I was able to restore it." Another gasp, this one full of awe and admiration. "And I have already restored the bending of Chief Beifong." To her right, the metal-clad woman nods and crosses her arms, thrusting her arm forward and bending her uniform so that it glitters in the lights of the arena, eliciting a cheer. "Now I will begin the process of restoring bending to the rest of the victims of Amon's tyranny." She knows that Mako is smiling behind her, and she remembers the nights they spent preparing and memorising together, the ink from his pen black against the snowfall white of the paper. Beifong lifts a hand, and the metal centrepiece of the stage is folded in two to reveal several men and women, heads bowed. "These four are only the beginning. Over the next few weeks, I promise that I will restore the bending of every single person touched by Amon's villainy." With that, she steps down from the podium, the microphone hastily replaced, and turns towards the four awaiting her: A metalbending officer, a White Lotus guard, a prominent radio announcer beloved by the city, and the former captain of the White Falls Wolfbats.

The White Lotus guard is first, a waterbender famous for his brilliant use of icebending to freeze enemies in their tracts. Closing her eyes, she summons her spirit from within, glowing white as her eyes in the Avatar State. "Thank you, Avatar," the guard murmurs as he lowers himself to one knee. Without looking, she places her hands on his forehead and chest, her thumb braced against his sternum. Korra feels the guard's spirit within him, dull grey as the ash of a dead fire, battered, bruised, and broken, shuddering in away in the deepest forgotten corner of his body. With effort, she focuses on the two spirits, bringing both of them together, her strength flowing into his, rejuvenating it until it shimmers an iridescent blue, bending his chi lines back into place and healing them as she would a wound. Bathed in the dancing lights, she is carried far, far away to a land where spirits mingle freely, misted in soft amber, the faint ringing of bells sounding just beyond her range. Her ears pick up the sounds of surprise from the ocean behind her, a wave of noise washing over her and bringing her back from her strange vision. Her hands fall away from the guard, his spirit surging into his own body, her spirit rushing to hers, and she stumbles backwards slightly, raising her eyelids to gaze at the remade waterbender staring wondrously at his palms, flexing his fingers in disbelief, a glimmering drop of water poised on the tip of his nail. A tear, she realises.

"Thank you, Korra. Avatar Korra," he says hoarsely. The guard bows lows to her, until his forehead nearly touches the ground.

She smiles weakly. "Don't mention it."

The metalbending officer is next, his new spirit green and vibrant as the leaves of green, but she notices her own spirit becoming dimmer. Then the radio announcer, this one taking longer than it should have; then again, she's never exactly trained for this sort of thing.

And then . . . her former archenemy. The pretty boy.

Korra expects Tahno to look as small and pitiful as he did the last time they met, but there's something else about him as well, a curious sort of gritty determination. The purple circles under his eyes have only darkened his colour, his hair messy and dishevelled as before.

"Hey, Uhvatar." He smirks, but the heart is gone, a pale shadow of what his sneer might have once meant. "Going to patch me up, doc?" Tahno snickers; it's more of a ghost of his former cruel laugh than anything else. "Down on my knees for the Uhvatar? What a naughty girl you are."

"Not today, Tahno." Lowering her eyelids, she tries to remember the feeling of returning bending, but her spirit is dim and dull, the intensity of it gone. "Today, your destiny is in my hands." Her fingers find their places, thumbs against forehead and sternum, pressing in as though the strength of her muscles could overcome the weakness of her spirit. His spirit she can sense, grey and weak, curled at the edge of his existence, pushed far away, perhaps in shame or in fear. Sensing is one thing. Bringing it up from within him is another. Korra strains to bend it to her will; her mind is overrun with images of Mako, Bolin, and the rest of her extended Republic City family disappointed with her failure. She can't fail. She _can't_.

But four might have been pushing it.

A shake runs through her, then another, her corded muscles shivering in their tenseness, every iota of power forced into this one last hoorah. Nothing. Tahno's spirit draws away from her, moving more intensely into itself, resisting her at every turn; she wonders if the former pro-bending captain even _wants_ his bending returned.

She can't.

The amber veil fades from her vision, her hold on him loosening, and it is all she can do not to drop to her knees, exhausted and fatigued, her stamina twisted away from her, her spirit dull and flickering feebly.

"Uhvatar? I'm _waiting_."

Her fingers curl involuntarily into fists, her biceps bulging with the effort of resisting her urge to slug the ungrateful former waterbender straight across the face, maybe send him off of the platform like she nearly did for Amon.

Korra opens her eyes to glare at him, but he merely quirks an eyebrow. "What's wrong, Uhvatar?" The corner of his lip curves up into a smirk. "Don't worry. I know all about cheating."

She's confused until she realises he's imitating the way the other restored victims eyed their hands and tested themselves. Behind her, the crowd cheers wildly, applause and yells noisy enough to threaten to shatter her eardrums.

"The Avatar has returned!" Korra stifles a gasp at an extremely familiar voice: Shiro Shinobi, last seen electroshocked by an Equalist during the final pro-bending match of the season. Now the man is at the podium, pumping the air with a fist, and the masses are going inane with a standing ovation.

Making a mental note to thank Tahno later, Korra turns back to her people. Mako, hovering on the corner of the stage, nods approvingly and touches his scarf in a way she's aware is meant for her. He mouths: "_I knew you could do it._" Her heartbeat quickens, her lips tingling with the thought of kissing him again. Refocusing on her task, Korra walks to the microphone, which Shinobi gladly hands over after making a few puns; even the worse ones are greeted with the laughter of thousands, more perhaps from relief than from mirth. Another round of flashes cameras, the reporters bursting forth with questions once more. The microphone buzzes with her exhalation.

"Thank you to everyone who came out here tonight. This is a new era in Republic City's history, an era of peace and love!" More applause. "We will rebuild our world, _together_."

A chant starts at the edge of the throng, so soft she can't hear it at first, but it swells in a moment handpicked by the spirits. "_Korra! Korra! Korra! Korra! Korra!_" Her name, over and over and over again, until it stops being her name and become the collective roar of the entire city, connected at once over those two syllables, sounding and resounding past the borders of every individual and rippling into the fabric of the universe itself.

Her eyes widen; she drinks in the love, the reverence, the overwhelming sense of being one with the world.

She is, in that moment, the true Avatar Korra.

"_Whoo! Go Korra!_" Bolin's voice, cutting above the rest of the crowd, his clapping the loudest of all.

And Mako's smile.

She can't see it.

But she knows him.

She can sense it.

And yet there's a pit in her stomach, lodged deep inside of it, as though something horrible is about to happen. Something in the air. A memory of something so similar sears into her mind: Another cheering crowd, another giant event, another night in this very arena. And then, out of nowhere . . .

Equalists.

Flashes of light in the throng, metalbending officers dropping like flies, an explosion rocking the formerly solid ground on which she stood.

Losing.

Republic City at war.

But it won't happen this time. Amon is gone, his mask at the bottom of Yue Bay, even though they haven't yet found him or Tarrlok, both having escaped somehow in the confusion. Even if he were to reappear, she has nothing to fear: Now that his secret has been exposed, his leadership of the Equalists is over. The Equalists are still out there, but their movement has retired to the shadows, the violence giving way to peaceful protest.

This time, it's not the beginning of a war on bending but the end of one. Inhaling deeply, her lungs filling with the scent of freedom, she lifts her arm, and somehow the crowd roars even more loudly.

Out of the corner of her eye, she spots something running on the edge of the platform under the pro-bending hexagon, a small shadow of some sort, a long figure, and she stares at it, squinting, unable to make out more than the barest silhouette of the character moving through the dark in the hexagon's underbelly. Then the figure pauses at the very end of the platform and leans into the light for a single instant.

Her blood freezes.

The white mask, the crimson dot, the leer carved through the very ceramic.

_Amon_.

But no, it's not. The character has disappeared, leaving a wake of confusion in its path, the departure sudden and jarring. Unless it was never there in the first place.

Korra could swear it was him, the man who haunts her nightmares yet, hovering at the brink. He _looked_ at her. But he's not there. And, she tells herself firmly he never was.

The crowd's chanting steadily dies down, the ceremony over, the city revitalised with new hope. The giant doors are flung open, exposing the masses to the winter night crisp and clear as a sheet of ice, several clouds sluggishly patrolling the sky, a passing lizard crow black against the white moon. Soon enough, the arena is clearing out, the three to whom she restored bending thanking her before they leave. As her ears return to normal after the hurricane of noise, Tenzin squeezes her shoulder. "Come, Korra." She looks back at him and sees the pride flare up in his grey eyes. "You have done more tonight for Republic City than I ever dreamed you could. You truly are my father's legacy."

Behind him, Beifong raises an eyebrow. "She's had enough with the spirit mumbo jumbo for one night, Tenzin. Why don't we discuss the nonbender issues?" She exchanges a glance with some beyond Korra's shoulder. "I think there's someone she'd rather talk to." Hooking the airbending master's arm, Beifong leads him away; Korra mouths a thank-you.

Mako. "You did great out there, Korra." The blush rises in her cheeks, and she hides her face. His arms glide smoothly around her waist as he embraces her from behind, his breath warm on the back of her neck, the situation made slightly awkward by their close proximity. "I love you."

Korra leans gladly into his chest, closing her eyes and letting herself relax for the first time all evening, pushing her hallucination of Amon out of her mind. "I love you too."

"Excuse _me_, loser, but I have a bone to pick with the Uhvatar." Mako releases her and swivels on his heel to face Tahno, whose lips are mockingly pursed. "_Quite_ the _bone_, I would say." Korra senses the firebender's anger build, and she touches his arm.

"What is it, Tahno?"

The former Wolfbat studies his nails intensely. "I guess the qualifications for _Uhvatar_ don't include smart." He gaze at her with an expression of complete and utter contempt. "What do you think I want? To get you wet? I don't need to be a waterbender to do that."

Mako explodes: "Hey, you watch your dirty mouth!"

Swiftly Korra snaps her head to look at him severely. "Let me handle this," she says quietly, then turns to Tahno. "I'm sorry for not being able to return your bending. I'm not used to doing so many people in one night."

"A shame. You'd be an excellent prostitute."

She goes over her words again in her mind, her cheeks flushing when she realises what she said. Korra points at him, jabbing her index and middle fingers into his chest. His smirk appears permanently glued to his face. "Okay, listen. I've tried to be nice and patient with you, but I'm tired of your jokes. I'd _like_ to be your Avatar and give you back your bending, even if you don't deserve it. Because you don't." She narrows her eyes. "But I'll be the good Avatar and return it. Come to Air Temple Island tomorrow, and I'll do it. Got it?"

Tahno lifts his arms and shrugs. "Inviting me to your house? That's a date, Uhvatar."

Enraged, Korra considers punching him for the second time tonight; Mako's grip on her shoulder tightens from his fury at the former waterbender's treatment of the Avatar. Fortunately for him, Tahno has the sense to withdraw before the situation becomes too heated.

As soon as he leaves, the firebender breaks in: "You didn't give back his bending?"

"Sorry about that." She rubs her right hand, her thumb massaging her palm. "I couldn't do it four times in a row. I'm not used to it."

"Hey, Korra!"

Bolin's voice. Excitedly Korra spins around, waving to the earthbender scrambling to his feet on the far end of the stage, dressed in the same spiffy suit he wore to Tarrlok's gala all those weeks ago. He races towards her, pushing Mako aside, and hugs her without abandon, picking her up and swinging her around before gently settling her back on solid ground. "You were fan_tast_ic out there tonight." His grin is infectious. "I was getting chills and everything. When you started talking about a new era for the city . . ."

She blushes. "Those were Mako's words. He wrote the speech; all I did was say it. Nothing special."

"Ah ah ah!" Bolin winks, doing a showy half-bow. "It wasn't the words that I heard; I meant the execution of the speech solution. Heh heh, it rhymed. I don't even know what I just said."

Korra rubs her arms, remembering to wave at Asami approaching behind Bolin, Pabu asleep around her neck. "What do you say we head out for some noodles to celebrate?" she offers. Mako seems to consider for a moment, then nods.

"Great idea, Korra."

"Yeah, I'm starving!" Bolin announces, causing Asami to laugh. Mako takes his place by his brother's right, strolling smoothly next to him. Korra makes to leave but glances back merely for a second, gaze riveted to the underbelly of the hexagonal arena.

The Amon she saw was _just_ a memory. A trick of the light.

It has to be.

"Coming, Korra?"

Korra looks up to see Bolin cocking his head inquisitively to one side, Mako and Asami on either side of him. "Oh, uh, right, sorry." She tries to laugh it off nervously. "Got a bit carried away there for a second."

Bolin frowns, then grins. "Well, come on. I don't want the sea prune stew gone by the time we show up."

She steps in behind him, attempting to concentrate on the conversation, but she keeps coming back to that . . . figure.

A memory. A trick of the light.

It _has_ to be.

* * *

_Commercial break._


	3. Return to Republic City, Part Two

_And now, a word from our sponsor: Everyone knows about the shipping war ripping through the fandom. Now it's your chance to take matters into your own hands. What's your favourite couple? Who belongs together? Who doesn't? Let us know in the comments!_

_Back to the show._

* * *

"Sorry, excuse me! Er, coming through! Out of the way, please! Sorry! Oops, my bad." Through the morning crowd of commuters jostling anxiously for the trolley, Bolin's voice comes loud and clear as he tries to squeeze through the tightly-packed individuals. He accidentally knocks into an elderly woman with several flowerpots in her grasp, and a crash stops him; he swings back and glances at the nightmare of broken pottery and strewn soil. "Ooh, sorry about that. Here, let me help you." With a twitch of his fingers, he earthbends the pots back together along with the dirt, hoping he didn't mangle the plants too badly. "There you go."

"Th-thank you," the woman stutters, nervously adjusting her spectacles, and he returns the pots safely to her arms.

With that, the earthbender dashes past, racing through the street between two satomobiles and arriving winded, if unhurt, on the other side; he pauses to pant for a few moments and stroke Pabu's head. "Hope you weren't too scared, little buddy."

The fire ferret squeaks, his scarlet fur on edge. Bolin laughs and tickles Pabu behind the ear, then peeks at the watch on his left wrist. "There's no way I can be late _again_. She'll have my skin for a rug for sure." Running breathlessly now and ignoring the looks the passers-by give him, Bolin sprints past the council building. It occurs to him he should have taken a different trolley like a sane person, but it doesn't stop here, in front of the Republic City police headquarters.

Skidding to a halt, Bolin feels his momentum propel him forward, and he tumbles over himself to land roughly on the ground. Shaking his head to clear, he picks himself up, his lungs burning, and pulls roughly on the front door a few times before remembering he has to push.

When he finally shoulders his way in, he nearly collapses on the step. Quickly as he can, Bolin salutes the clerk, who points him left, and follows the woman's directions, jogging through the hall until he sees the door on the other side, leading to the training area. This time he _does_ pull properly, the door swinging inward and allowing the warm morning sunlight onto his face.

Stepping onto the flat metal space of the courtyard set aside for training new recruits, Bolin grins and waves at the collection of young men and women in trainee uniforms, each of them holding a thin metal rod. Most look awkwardly away, but one flashes him an expression that reeks of _you're dead meat_. Smiling sheepishly, Bolin turns his attention to Chief Beifong, staring at him with a quirk in her eyebrow and a disapproving scowl.

"Sorry chief," he stammers, "but I missed my trolley, and—"

The rod flies at him so rapidly he almost doesn't catch it; it whacks him in the head before he can find a good grip. "No excuses. Get in here and train, boy."

"Yes ma'am sorry ma'am." Scooping Pabu up in his left hand, he places the fire ferret on the floor. Like a flash of fire, the red puffball scampers across the metal, tiny claws clacking noisily, and into the grass on the circle's edge.

Chief Beifong is already instructing her students: "Close your eyes. Feel the earth within the metal; use your seismic sense if you have to." Bolin slides into place next to the line of future police officers, placing his hands uncertainly on the rod, sweeping his thumb over the cool, smooth surface and trying to imagine speckles of dirt within it. "It's these impurities that allow us to bend. Yes, the impurities." She touches the dual scars on her face, and several trainees swallow visibly. "No one here is perfect. It is our imperfections that make us strong. Just like seismic sense is about seeing not the ground but the pieces that _aren't_ earth, metalbending is about bending not the metal but the pieces that _aren't_ metal." Her armour creaks as she places her hands on her hips. "Don't use your strength. Use your bending. Remember, pressure and pain."

Recalling her previous speeches on the importance of pressure and pain to metalbending, Bolin closes his eyes and strains, but the metal doesn't budge, not even the slightest amount. There's no earth in it; he wonders if Chief Beifong didn't maybe give him a rod of pure platinum. His cheeks puffing out in his exertion, he increases the _pressure_, and he feels it giving, ever so steadily, under his fingers. "Hey! Hey! I think I got it!" Yes, it's bending now, curving into a horseshoe shape. At last, he's done it. At last, he's _metalbent_.

"You haven't metalbent." Chief Beifong's unimpressed timbre sends him crashing back to the present. Bolin blinks at her and glances down at the curved rod in his grasp. "You were using your strength." Clenching her fist and opening her fingers in several rapid motions, she straightens the rod. If his face could have fallen off, it would have. "Try again. Grab it _lightly_. And don't give me that look. You know the only way to learn metalbending is—"

"Pressure and pain," he repeats dutifully. "I know, I know." Shaking her head, the metalbender moves down the line, correcting a position here, patting a successful trainee's shoulder there.

Bolin frowns and gazes at the rod. "Why won't you bend?" His breath hisses out between his teeth in his frustration. "I think I've been under enough pressure and pain recently." Pinching the metal between his thumb and forefinger, he swings it distractedly back and forth. "At least my seismic sense is getting better," he grumbles under his breath, glaring at the rod as though it were the spawn of Amon himself.

"My apologies for interrupting, but can I speak to Bolin for a moment?"

He snaps up, surprised. "Asami? What are you doing here?"

The young woman smiles at him, tucking a silky strand of black hair behind her ear, her tight-fitting black and purple race uniform making him ponder if she wasn't just at the track testing out the new satmobile models. "Hello, Bolin. Mako told me I could find you here. I wanted to ask you for a favour."

"Sure. Er, you were talking to Mako?" Bolin flags down Chief Beifong's attention with a flapping hand, and the chief of police crosses her arms but waves him off. "What's up?"

"I was going to ask. . . . Would you mind if I borrowed Pabu for the day?" Asami's eyes are full of pleading.

Bolin raises his eyebrows and puts a hand on her shoulder. "Hey, are you okay? I mean, sure you can borrow Pabu, but . . . why?"

She casts her gaze down, her soft fingers touching the hand on her shoulder. "He reminds me of Mako's scarf. That's all."

"I thought you were over him," Bolin responds, dumbfounded for a moment; then he covers his hand with his mouth, backtracking swiftly. "That didn't come out right. I'm sorry."

"It's all right. I _am_ over him." The unspoken words hang in the fragile air between them, words that the earthbender catches in the silence: _But it hurts me to see Mako and Korra together_. "I'm glad to see that he's happy with Korra, but I do miss his scarf." Asami clears her throat and looks back at Bolin, the pleading transformed into that kind of sorrow one get be addicted to.

Not wanting to upset his friend, he calls out to Pabu, fishing a fire ferret treat out of his pocket and offering it to Asami, who takes it gingerly between two fingers. It's then he notices that she's not wearing her usual makeup, the dabs of eye-shadow and lipstick not placed with quite as much care as normal, reminding him of what she wore during the Equalists' endgame. The fire ferret has scampered over by then; bunching his legs, Pabu springs into the young woman's palm, nose twitching as he nibbles on the treat. "Hello, Pabu. How's my favourite fire ferret doing?"

"I thought I was your favourite Fire Ferret," Bolin jokes. "You know, like the pro-bending team? Oh, and I was wanted to ask: Do you think I could test-drive the new satomobiles? I heard the Eel Hound is fantastically fast."

She chuckles. "Of course. Come by the mansion at any time. I'd welcome the diversion from the paperwork and phone calls."

Bolin opens his arms widely, staring at her in disbelief. "But you _own_ the place. Why're you acting like a secretary?"

"It's what my father always said. If you want something done, do it yourself." The corners of her mouth turn down slightly, but he catches it. "Before he went to work for the Equalists, of course." Her voice carries a hint of bitterness.

"All right, enough flirting." Chief Beifong's barking timbre causes him to snap up and stand straight; he almost drops the rod again. "Recruit, return to your training. Miss Sato, stop distracting him."

Asami bows. "Of course, Chief Beifong. Enjoy training, Bolin." Pabu creeps up her arm and snuggles close to her neck, ears twitching. Bolin waves good-bye, then refocuses on metalbending, struggling to get it right.

There's a smack somewhere behind: A messenger has run into the doors, pushing instead of pulling. Bolin snickers but makes a pulling motion with his hand. Grateful, the messenger hurries inside, a slip of white paper in his gloved palm.

"Chief B-beifong! Chief B-beifong!"

"What is it _now_?" The chief of police glowers, pushing away her current trainee, who breathes a visible sigh of relief at no longer being the centre of attention.

The messenger gulps. "R-red Monsoons, in Watertown, Chief Beifong." The paper is plucked from his outstretched hand. Abandoning his rod, Bolin watches Chief Beifong's expression change from annoyance to determination. "They're t-taking advantage of the l-lack of officers, and w-we—"

"Then call the emergency reserve," the chief barks. "Recruits, school's out for today."

One of the trainees lifts an arm. "Could we go with you?"

"F-f-far too d-dangerous," the messenger stutters. Chief Beifong fixes him with a glare worthy of Avatar Kyoshi, or at least what Bolin's read of her.

"Absolutely. Get a move on it, kids." She sweeps the courtyard with a steady gaze, resting for a moment on Bolin and continuing down the line. "The Equalists may be kaput, but danger's never far behind. What's our motto?"

"To protect and serve!" a handful of recruits respond proudly, pumping the air with eager fists.

Chief Beifong raises her voice. "I _said_, what is our motto?"

This time, Bolin is in on the action: "_To protect and serve!_"

She smiles with grim satisfaction. "Let's go, ladies."

* * *

The morning sun washes over the unusually still waters of Yue Bay, setting the blue aflame with gold. The light climbs over the rocky cliff-side, steals over the small houses where the air acolytes are living while the temples are rebuilt, and whispers up the stone path leading to the spiralling tower perched on the edge of the rock. From Tenzin's vantage point, gazing out of the window overlooking the bay, he can see from memory the council building in the heart of the city, empty for the time being, and he frowns, stroking his beard.

"Father? What's wrong?" Balancing a plate with a teapot and two steaming cups on a ball of air in the palm of her right hand, Jinora offers the tray to Tenzin, who gratefully accepts one of the cups. The scent reminds him of his childhood spent drowning in jasmine tea whenever he was upset, mostly due to his older siblings' pranks.

"Your grandmother sent you with that tea, didn't she?"

Jinora nods. "I'm glad that she's staying with us for a few days. I missed her so much! She really liked Korra's speech yesterday."

Tenzin smiles, taking another sip of tea. "Of course she did. I remember reading some of those very words in one of Fire Lord Zuko's speeches."

"His coronation speech," Jinora notes smartly, sniffing delicately at her own cup. "But why are you upset, Father?"

"The other members of the council are still missing, there is a warrant out for Tarrlok's arrest, and the protestors are demanding a new make-up of the council." He exhales, watching the steam curl over the rim of the cup and wisp away into the skies, mingling with the chilled morning air, a promise of snow greying the clouds. "The leadership of the city is in my hands at the moment, but I cannot make the decisions myself, Jinora. Not with the constant demands I pass council reform."

Jinora studies the patterns of steam and ripples on the surface of her cup. "What are you going to do?"

"I don't know yet." Tenzin looks over the water, Yue Bay stretching before them in all its majesty and grandeur. On the horizon, a pale ghost of last night's moon can yet be seen. "Your grandmother has helped me greatly, but she will have to return to the south soon." He shakes his head. "It's too much work for one person to handle."

"I've been reading up on politics and reform," she confides excitedly. "I could help!"

Tenzin squeezes her shoulder. "Thank you, Jinora." She beams. Suddenly, she pushes past her father and squints at something in the distance. He frowns. "What is it?"

"It's a boat. Someone's just arrived on the island." Her face brightens. "I hope it's Bolin. He hasn't returned my earthbending scrolls yet."

He scans the bay around the island and sees the small ship at the dock, a figure racing up towards the temple. "Who could it be this early in the morning?" he muses. Noticing his daughter no longer by his side, he lifts his head. "Jinora?"

The girl has fetched her glider, the wooden ribs stark against the orange fabric, and she dashes for the window. "I'll say hello!" Stopping for a moment to carefully balance the tray on the windowsill, Jinora leaps off, engulfing in the freedom of the sudden drop stopped at the final moment by the wind catching in her sail. A yell of joy bubbles up out of her; she can't remember the last time she flew for fun, the most recent memory that of her defending the island. The breeze whips her hair back, her vision a spiral of colour and patterns of light and shadow. This high, she can pretend she's a bird, a zebra loon with wings spread wide, the clouds parting to allow her to pass. Always that flicker of indecision before she convinces herself to descend, to lower, to ground herself. If she could, she thinks, she would up this high forever.

Far below her, Bolin's signature turtle duck butt hair bobs and weaves up the path. Jinora angles her glider, closing her eyes for a moment to let a ray of sunlight pass over her face, and catches the wind for a steep bank. Ikki still can't do it without flipping her glider, and Meelo hasn't learned to glide yet. Cautiously and recklessly at once she drops, calculating the speed to alight a metre or so in front of their guest. When her shadow passes over him, causing him to look up and grin at her, she snaps the wings of the glider closed, airbending a current about her feet to land softly on the path. Without stopping, Bolin scoops her up in his arms, her hollow airbender bones making her light, and continues jogging. "Hey Jinora," he pants, a drop of sweat trickling down his forehead. "So I finally figured out what your favourite kind of tea is."

"Bolin, what are you doing here?" she asks, interrupting. "I thought you had metalbending training this morning."

"I do." He comes to a halt at the door, hesitating, and instead speeds down the path to the stables. "I mean, I did. But then—Red Monsoons—in Watertown—" Bolin nearly trips, but he steadies himself and continues. "Chief Biefong fetched me to send Korra. Sent me to fetch Korra. You know what I mean." The wooden roof of the stables appears in view. "And I think I know where Korra is."

* * *

Her lips swollen, she lunges in for another kiss, and the two of them go tumbling through hay of Naga's stall. One of his hands on the back of her head, the other run along the skin of her belly and side, Mako dodges her attack and instead peppers her neck with pecks that trail heat; as he approaches her collarbone, they turn messy and wet, and Korra wriggles under him, but he has trapped her hands under her. "Let me do _something_," she complains, fighting for dominance. He smiles into her neck and kisses her loudly just below the collarbone where the swell of her breasts begins, his thumb dipping for a moment under her waistband. "Hey, hey. No getting ahead of yourself."

"Sorry."

"Uh, Korra, are you in—_oh_."

Mako drops her like a hot coal, and she rolls under, hastily tucking the hem of her shirt under her fur skirt. Bolin is standing at the entrance to the stables, his face oddly level, Jinora peeking out from behind him. As the firebender starts to spout off excuses, Korra coughs and tugs down her collar, her flesh heated enough as is. When Bolin finally speaks, his voice sounds flat. "Korra, Chief Beifong told me to tell you: Red Monsoons in Watertown. There's some looting going on."

"Why didn't she call?" Mako snaps, helping Korra sit up. "Never mind. I'll go with you. With a weakened police force, Chief Beifong will need all the help she can get."

"It's fine." The Avatar touches his hand. "I'll be okay."

He shakes his head. "You'll need a firebender. Especially a lightning generator."

Bolin points a thumb at the door behind him. "Then come on, bro. We don't a minute to lose." Korra airbends herself unsteadily to her feet, Mako's grip stabilising her. Jinora tugs on his sleeve questioningly. "No, _you_ can't come with us. Your father'd rip my head off." She makes a noise of displeasure. Korra is already shaking Naga awake, hitching the saddle on and ensuring the straps aren't too tight.

Mako claps the earthbender's shoulder as the polar bear dog flashes past in a blur of white. "Hurry up, bro. Let's go."

Bolin pauses at the door and glances back at the disappointed girl. "Oh, and Jinora?"

The airbender beams. "Yes?"

"Your favourite tea? _Jin-_seng."

Her laugh makes Korra wonder what she's missed.

* * *

_Commercial break._


	4. Return to Republic City, Part Three

_And now, a word from our sponsor: The vote is tearing apart the comments! At the moment, we have: Makorra - 3; Borra - 2; Bolinora - 1; Irosami - 1; Korrasami - 1. But it's not too late to vote; the endgame pairings will be decided somewhere between episodes four and five, or chapters twelve and fifteen. Until them, all options will be kept open, so keep on voting!_

_Back to the show._

* * *

A terrified mother of two huddles next to a worn black fence, her young sons held in protective embraces, her widened blue eyes reflecting the violence that passed through not a moment ago, the man stabbed by the triad weeping for his own mother to guide him to the Spirit World, the red monsoon of his lifeblood leeched by the hungry earth, the snowfall turning pink and scarlet. A fearless roar sounds somewhere nearby, and the mother draws her children even closer, their faces buried in her sides.

A flash of blue, red, and green on a massive mound of white moves past: A polar bear dog, tearing through the street. The wind whipping her hair backwards, Korra holds on to Naga's reins tightly, searching for the metalbenders who already be here fighting against the triad. She feels Bolin stretch his arm out, bracing it against her shoulder: "Look! Over there!" Following his pointing finger, she sees someone run across a burning room, leap off, and fire what looks like a thread from his wrist. Definitely a metalbender.

Squeezing Naga's sides with her ankles, Korra urges the polar bear dog forward. "Go, girl, go!"

"I don't think we should be diving headfirst into battle!" Mako yells from the back as they round the corner. Up ahead of them is a dead end alleyway surrounded by stone houses, but she can hear fighting from the other side.

"Ready, Bolin?" she calls backwards.

The earthbender raises both arms. "Ready."

In unison they earthbend up a ramp stretching from the ground to the corner of the wall; Naga's giant paws barely fit onto the ramp, and the polar bear dog races up the building, across the roof, and leaps, undaunted, from the edge. For a moment, they float in nothingness. Korra gazes at the battleground of metalbenders and waterbenders below them, unravelling through the road like a bloody carpet. Here a Red Monsoon clothed in fiery crimson fires a spike of ice. There a police officer wraps two metal wires around a member of the triad, dragging him into custody, the metal cuffs shining in the late morning sun.

In the back of her mind she questions the sanity of a bloodbending triad attacking around midday, when waterbending is at its weakest, but before she can think through it, Naga has dropped onto a pair of waterbenders and the bending brothers are sliding off of her back, the sound of lightning generator sizzling in her ears. An instant later she leaps to her feet as well, lifting her hands up to bring the earth to soften her impact out of habit. Tumbling down and landing heavily on elbows and knees, Korra realises the ramp from earlier was all Bolin. But there's no time for that now.

A Red Monsoon waterbends a tentacle from the snow, shooting it towards her, and she attempts to bend it away, forgetting water is no longer hers. A sudden wall of rock stops the tentacle in its tracks as a bolt of silver-blue lightning sings through the air, the shock collapsing the waterbender to his knees. She smiles gratefully at Bolin. "I owe you one!" He nods back at her and charges into battle. To her surprise, Naga takes after him, snarling as she tackles every Red Monsoon in sight.

Twisting about, Korra airbends a handful of triad member into the wall, knocking them unconscious. The heat of fire next to her bids her turn her head in time to ogle at Mako burn-kicking an ice spear out of the way, close enough that it would be surely impaled her. He is next to her in an instant, his arms once again twisting like dancing dragons, sparks flickering from his fingertips. "I got your back, Korra."

Korra dashes past him and swipes horizontally to the ground, the sharp air current slicing through wood and blowing Red Monsoons and metalbenders alike back. "Sorry!" she calls to her allies, weakly picking themselves up from the edges of the battlefield. From of her eye she spots another Red Monsoon icebending an officer to a wall, but Mako is in front of her prior to her forward lunge.

"Let me take care of that." A blast of flame knocks the Red Monsoon out of the way.

"I can fight my own battles," Korra protests, taking a firebending pose. "Leave me alone."

Mako frowns. "You can barely airbend, and you expect me to _leave you alone_? Korra, you're not ready to fight right now." Scouring the street and purposefully ignoring him, Korra notices three of them rushing past the carnage with stolen goods in hand, and she thrusts her hand out, bending a burst of wind that completely misses them by a few metres. Growling in frustration, she kicks but misses again, her timing entirely off. "Let me take care of that, too." Again Mako intercepts, one cobalt bolt disorientating the would-be thieves, another causing them to flee in the opposite direction, right into the waiting metal cords of a poised Lin Beifong.

Apprehending them, tying them up, and tossing them onto the sidewalk in the matter of half a second, the metalbender acknowledges Korra's presence. "Nice of you to join the party, Korra." About to return to fighting, she glances back, her lips curled into the ghost of a smirk. "And friend," she adds as an afterthought, as though his name is about as important to her as what he had for breakfast that morning.

"Why are the Red Monsoons doing this?" Mako attempts to flag the police chief down, his eyes narrowed. "Are they just looting? Is that it?"

"Of course not." Beifong catches a Red Monsoon in the act of nearly stabbing one of her officers with a frost blade and throws her onto the nearby roof. She falls off with a moan, clutching her stomach. "But I don't care about their agenda so much as I care about upholding justice."

Resisting the urge to slap his face with his palm for the lack of strategy anyone around here seems to have, Mako whips around, intent on continuing to protect Korra until she is past this bending block, but the girl is nowhere in the vicinity. "No! Korra?" She's gone. He exhales angrily, looking for a clue to where she might have gone: In her current state, she's apt to end up injured, if not worse. "Why are you so _impossible_?"

* * *

"Hey, fat boy, get out of the way!"

Finishing tying the knot of rope around the unconscious Red Monsoon's wrists, Bolin lifts his head to see a pair of men adorned with orange sashes, one with spiky hair, the other sporting a distinctive hole where his nose should be. Naga snarls, her muzzle wrinkling, her ears flattened back. He puts a steadying hand on her foreleg, feels the tendons bunched under his touch, and stares as the orange-sashed men run past, a black-haired girl struggling out of No Nose's grasp. "I'm not fat," he objects, flicking his left wrist and sending the pair flying towards him on two columns of rock. When the girl, gagged and bound, zooms past him, he snags her from the air, gently laying her beside him, and bends two small stones at the orange sash-wearers' heads. They topple over, one immediately knocked out, the other moaning. "I'm fluffy."

On his other side, Naga barks and rears, causing several more potential opponents to flee. "Thanks, girl." Her tail wags. Clumsily Bolin unties her binds and rips the gag from her mouth. "Are you okay?" The girl shakes her head, her sunken eyes drowning in fear, her yellowed teeth chattering too loudly for him to make out anything she might be saying. "Never mind. Just hang tight. Naga, take care of her, okay?"

The polar bear dog _woof_s an affirmative, and Bolin carefully loads her onto the saddle, not bothering to ask why the men were carrying her or where they were taking her. Though by now the majority of the Red Monsoons are more or less under control in the main section of Watertown, he's aware that in this somewhat poorer area, there hasn't been as much police action. Not nearly enough to assume the girl will be okay, especially not with her level of fear.

"_Bolin! _Watch out!" A stream of air blows his hair into his face, and he sweeps it back only to watch another Red Monsoon soaring through the sky and crashing into a barrel of buffalo yak chips, the wooden top conking him on the head.

Astounded at her perfect timing, Bolin smiles at Korra, perched atop a roof, her palm still open from her pulse of airbending. "Thanks for the save, Korra!"

"Consider it a debt repaid." Jumping off of the building, she rides a miniature air typhoon, stopping barely half a metre away from him. "Ready to kick some triad butt? Sure you can handle the fire?"

Bolin punches his right palm with his left fist. "Now that you're here, I can handle _anything_. Remember, Korra—we're Fire Ferrets."

A steady stream of fleeing triad members appears to head in their direction, trying to leave the centre of the fighting with the loot they've already grabbed, but Bolin and Korra are ready for them. As though they were one person, she sweeps the members back in time for him to knock them out, while Naga blocks off the alternate paths. Airbending away frost weapons or earthbending slabs of stone to knock back tentacles of water, Bolin and Korra circle each together, back-to-back, a flurry of kicks and punches, both light on their feet until the moment they need to strike. He's forgotten her the way she is like this, radiant with her wild beauty, her hair mussed up, sweat dripping down her body, the texture of her skin shifting with each stance and attack, but the rhythm from their old pro-bending days together is locked so strongly in with his being that he clicks into it at once, not even needing to see her to know exactly how she moves and what she does, until the road is littered with unconscious benders.

Flipping her erratic hair back, Korra wipes her brow with the back of her hand. "I haven't had that much fun for a while," she confesses, panting.

Breathless himself, his skin heated from the frantic pace of the fight, Bolin squats down to pack some snow into his palm, holding it against his temple, enjoying the cold against his fiery flesh. "I know what you mean. Here, let's get these guys tied up. Naga, come here." Her tail thumping loudly, the polar bear dog bounds towards him, her pinkish tongue poking out between her canines.

Korra crosses her arms. "She really likes you, doesn't she?"

"I'm good with animals," Bolin answers nonchalantly, plucking some lengths of rope from Naga's saddle and handing them to Korra, who raises her eyebrows.

"Hey, this is some quality rope." An odd expression passes over her features. "Who's that girl in the saddle?"

The earthbender glances at said girl, curled in a ball. "I don't know. These men in orange belts were kidnapping her or something. She didn't look like she wanted to go with them."

"Well, what are you—"

"_Korra!_"

Swiftly Bolin snaps his head in the direction of Mako's voice: His brother, flanked by Chief Beifong, races up to them, his face distorted with his concern. Rapidly he runs his hands over Korra, the patterns of muscle movement informing Bolin that Mako is checking for injuries. "Why did you do that? You could have been killed!"

"She was fine," the earthbender says evenly, disturbed by the way his brother is treating the powerful Korra as if she were made of fragile glass. "She saved my life, bro." He jabs his thumb in his chest. "She's a better fighter than _me_. And that's saying something."

"Mako, stop." Korra tries to shrug him off, but Mako tightens his grip.

"I was so worried about you." Letting his hands fall away, he embraces her with one arm, his fingers curling around her hips, and tilts her chin up with the other to kiss her fervently in the middle of the street. Bolin watches her melt in the hug, surrender herself to the passion emanating off the couple in waves, her earlier annoyance draining away from this abrupt display of affection.

Chief Beifong taps his shoulder. With difficulty, he tears his gaze away from Mako and Korra. "Nice work, Bolin." She inclines her head approvingly.

"What's the, uh, status, ma'am?" he asks, attempting to keep his timbre as professional as possible.

"No casualties." The metalbender grimaces. "A lot of collateral damage. Who's the girl?"

Bolin makes a motion to her, and she, still shivering, creeps forward in the saddle. Carefully, he helps her down, saddened by the spasms racking her from her overwhelming sense of fear. "Are you okay?"

"Th-thank you," the girl mumbles, leaning back on Naga for stability, her knees squeezed together. Her black hair coiling at her waist and reminding him of a dark-skinned, blue-eyed version of Asami, she wipes her eyes with a purple sleeve. "The Agni Kais kidnapped me and were taking me away. Thank you for saving me. I should be on my way now."

"No way." Bolin touches her elbow. "You look like you need a hot meal. Can I recommend Narook's Noodlery?"

Her brow furrowed, Chief Beifong interrupts. "Why were the Agni Kais interested in you?" From the calculating flicker in the chief's eyes, Bolin presumes she's gauging the girl's age and social standing. "Do you know why the Red Monsoons were raiding Watertown for the first time in years?"

The girl shakes her head back and forth rapidly, so rapidly the action is nearly inhuman, and Chief Beifong, arching her eyebrows, metalbends the cover off of one of her feet. "I've no idea, sorry."

"Your heartbeat tells me a different story." The woman narrows her eyes, the irises hardening into sharp emeralds. "Let's try this again. Why were the Agni Kais interested in you?"

Bolin has a desperate urge to interject, to cool down the situation, to stop the conflict before it starts, but he stays silent, willing to let the police chief's experience lead the way. The girl attempts to back away but finds Naga's side resisting her, and she shudders. "I have to go. Please, believe me."

"I believe my feet." The cuffs are in Chief Beifong's hands by the second word and around the girl's wrists by the fourth. "You're under arrest for obstruction of justice."

At this, Bolin raises an arm to flag down the metalbender's attention. "Chief, she hasn't done anything wrong. What are you doing?" His inner wrists retain the memory of the cuffs Tarrlok snapped on them, the metal spikes on the inside ring biting into his flesh and drinking of his blood.

"Obstructing justice," Chief Beifong repeats, bending the metal of her shoe back on. "Lying to an officer." The girl says nothing but gazes solemnly, pitifully at Bolin, her sapphire eyes drowning in sorrow, pleading to be set free. He looks away; she casts her gaze down the road. "Come on. We have to get these Red Monsoons to headquarters."

One of her junior officers—Bolin doesn't recognise him save for the armour denoting his rank—calls out to them. "Way ahead of you, Chief. The boys and I are packing them in the airships now."

Chief Beifong smiles, a rare sign of approval from the chief of police. "Good." To the girl, pulled along by the handcuffs, she growls, "I'll be taking care of you personally."

Uncertain, undecided, Bolin hovers next to Naga, watching the majority of the meagre police force begin the walk back to where the police airships were left, a handful staying behind to aid in the rebuilding effort. Troubled with the abrupt arrest of the girl he rescued and musing on its meanings, he absentmindedly scratches her sides; the polar bear dog thumps her tail against the ground, doubling the effort once Korra approaches. Bolin can't help the grin that steals onto his face.

"I didn't thank you properly for letting me fight with you." She strokes Naga's head, and the polar bear dog shakes herself as though she were wet. "Mako's been really protective lately. Guess it's because I still don't have my bending back." She flexes her fingers, staring at the spaces between them as if they hold the answers. "I don't know if I ever will."

"Well, thank-you accepted. And anytime. Thank _you_ for fighting with _me_: Otherwise my butt would've been whooped pretty badly." Bolin opens his arms, proffering a hug, and she accepts it gladly. He adores the way her body curves into his, the swell of her breasts against his chest, the rhythm of her heart pulsing on his skin. "Hey, I was going to ask you something earlier. We haven't seen each other much lately."

She sighs, relaxing in his embrace. "I know. Things have been crazy lately. People keep asking me to do stuff for them. Ooh, restore my bending, Avatar Korra! Give a speech, Avatar Korra! Open my jar of pickled sea prunes, Avatar Korra! It's always Avatar Korra this and Avatar Korra that." Her brow wrinkles, her lips curving into a frown. "No one remembers the _Korra_ part."

"I do."

A comfortable silence falls between them while he chooses his words carefully. "Korra, I wanted to ask. . . . Would you let to get dinner with me tomorrow? As friends, I mean. I just want to catch up with you. It's been a few days since we've talked by ourselves."

Korra's face brightens, and Bolin's heart soars. "I'd love to go!" She pulls away from his hug and glances at Mako, who is patiently standing several metres away, his arms crossed, clearly waiting for her to finish her conversation. The earthbender misses her warmth already. "But I can't. I have a date with Mako. It's our first just-us date, no writing speeches, no interruptions by Tenzin or Katara, no _nothing_ but us."

Bolin strains to hide his disappointment, but he know she can read him like an open book; anyone can. "Oh, uh, have fun." He swallows. "Well, I guess I'll see you around then, Korra." Cupping his hands around his mouth, he yells to his brother: "Take care of her bro! See you tonight!" Mako waves. Bolin is halfway into Naga's saddle when Korra clears her throat.

"That's my polar bear dog, Bolin."

His cheeks flush. "Right. Sorry." He slides off, tapping his index fingers together in his embarrassment.

Taking Naga's reins, Korra signals to Mako, who gets on roughly enough to cause the polar bear dog discomfort. She barks at Bolin, wriggling her rump. "No, Bolin's not coming with us," Korra says with a laugh, tugging the reins. The polar bear dog's ears droop, but she allows herself to be led away.

Bolin watches them leave for a long, long time.

* * *

"_When_?"

"Soon."

"I already entrusted my life to one liar. How do I know you are different?"

"Patience, patience. One day, we will remove our mask, and you will understand why we are the one chosen by the spirits to restore balance to the world."

"He said that as well."

"He was human. He had faults."

"What are you?"

"We are the solution."

* * *

Written by

**Flutflutflyer**

Directed by

**Flutflutflyer**


	5. The Hideout, Part One

Earth. Fire. Air. Water.

Only the Avatar can master all four elements and bring balance to the world.

* * *

_While restoring bending, the Avatar seemed to have a few troubles, but Tahno graciously covered for her. Could there be a hidden motivation? Suddenly, the Red Monsoons attacked Watertown, and a sneak surprise in the form of a young kidnapped girl was dropped at Chief Beifong's feet. Will Mako and Korra's first date be filled with love or loss? What will the council do about the nonbender protestors? And where are the missing councilmen?__  
_

* * *

血

Book Two

**Blood**

Chapter Two

**The Hideout**

* * *

Night has fallen over the city, bringing with it not silence but sound, the noises of the after-dark hours sprung to life in a flurry of blaring clubs and glaring lights, the true heart of the city coming alive with the heavy pulsations of jazz and the shouts of overeager teenagers and adults alike taking their chances in the cover of shadows. But not even the bright Pro-bending Arena or the beacon atop the tallest tower in the entire landscape could match the Sato mansion tonight, the line of satomobiles parked outside stretching beyond the gate, attendants parking vehicles and ushering guests inside with the swift movements and shrill voices of so many chickadee wrens, feathers rising from caps, plumage swept down as massive doors swing open, revealing the gala inside, the melody spilling out into the street and turning the heads of those anxious to catch the fading strains before they disappear into the folds of night.

Music. Colours. The air blooms with light and sound, the chandeliers overhead casting a lovely golden glow over the party-goers, dressed in ruffled skirts and stiff suits, fluttering here and there as birds alighting in the garden. Upon the stage, the winds twitter, the tsungi horns low in the background, pipas chirping out the melody to which the guests sway and twirl. In the centre, couples waltz upon the dance floor, nary a button out of place or a wrinkle in the fabric, movements small, slight, and perfect. Beyond that is the banquet, mounds of food piled high upon the unbearably lengthy tablecloth adorned with a Future Industries logo. Around a chocolate fondue fountain the most expensive and exotic dishes possible have been arranged, from soft peacock trout caviar to airy white rice that appears to float in the air to smoked toucan zebra made with spices so foreign not even the most well-travelled of individuals have tasted of them all. Baskets of fruit upon baskets of fruit take up an entire table, another devoted to ice cream imported from the Fire Nation and kept cold by a team of waterbenders. No, not waterbenders, as the hostess explains to the ogling crowd. "This device, manufactured here at Future Industries, works much like an icebox," Asami Sato says amid the flash of cameras, some angled at the recently unveiled product, most focusing on the new face of the company, her long pink and scarlet gown lovingly hugging her bountiful curves, a lotus hair clip affixed in the luscious sable hair cascading over her bare shoulders and curling at the swell of her breasts. "But this is able to keep anything cold indefinitely. All you need is a source of power . . . and a Future Industries refrigerator."

The mass of reporters oohs and aahs, stampeding to be the first to bring word of the new-fangled invention to the public. Asami smiles cattishly and bows, her gloved hands clasped together, and looks up to see her friends, just arrived, waving to her.

"Now, if you would be kind so as to excuse me," she requests, gliding away from the crowd of journalists, "I must play the hostess."

Pabu once again perched soundly on his shoulders after being returned earlier that morning, Bolin grins at her, and she waves smoothly, but her joy disappears for a moment when she sees Mako, holding a drink with one hand, Korra's fingers pressing into his other arm as if she could not bear to let him go. Asami inhales and walks up to them, resolving to not let her former boyfriend ruin her evening. "How are you enjoying yourselves?"

"You throw the best parties!" Bolin flashes her a thumbs-up. "The food's good, the music's _awesome_."

"I thought you preferred jazz."

He shrugs. "I don't mind classical." She can tell he's lying by the way he shows his teeth and that little nervous jitter of his shoulders, but he's trying so hard she can't help but accept his words.

Mako nods, looking her up and down with an expression of approval. "You always knew how to be extravagant, Asami. And you look beautiful. Happy eighteenth birthday."

"Thank you." She's pleased that he remembered.

"You've blossomed in the past few months," he continues conversationally. "You're even more beautiful than when we dated."

Narrowing her eyes, Korra coughs noisily. "Great party. Really. Happy birthday." She tugs on Mako's arm. "Come on. How about we . . . go get something to drink?"

He glances at the glass he already holds but relents, leading her back to the banquet table. Bolin shakes his head. "Don't mind them. It's supposed to be their first real date or something like that tonight, after the party." Asami smiles faintly. "Oh, and I almost forgot. I know you said to give the presents to your feather-hat guys but I wanted to give you mine in person." The box is wrapped loosely in emerald green paper that appears to have been glued down and cut roughly at parts, the ribbon tied sloppily with a wayward and off-centre bow. It reeks of hours spent arts-and-crafting at home, and she wonders what the gift could be. "Here."

"Thank you." Asami takes the present gratefully, a bit uncertain what to do with it: The rest of the gifts were handed to ushers earlier for the unwrapping later. Should she hand it to an attendant and open it later, or unwrap it now? Bolin seems to be waiting for the latter, absentmindedly scratching his fire ferret's head with his index finger. Deftly she opens it, a sharp fingernail popping up the paper. Though she wants to save the wrapping, the homemade job forces her to rip it open until the box is revealed. Praying to the spirits it isn't some sort of jewellery she will have to wear the rest of the evening—as much as she adores Bolin and would do it on any other day, she must be professional for the refrigerator unveiling—Asami lifts the top of the box and sees a folded square of fabric.

"It's a scarf!" Bolin reveals. "The kind that goes around your waist. It's got your logo on it and everything." She is amazed that so much warmth and encouragement could radiate out of a single person, especially one who grew up on the street. "I know how much you miss Mako's scarf, and I thought that maybe getting you your own'll help you forget about his. You know."

Asami doesn't whether to laugh or cry, but she pulls the scarf out gently and ties it about her waist, drawing attention to her hips, the hem reaching halfway down her thigh and displaying, as promised, the Future Industries logo, the half-gear standing out proudly; it's the colour of the logo on her old outfit, the one kept close in her closet, the one in which the war was won. "Thank you so much, Bolin."

Bolin beams. "Anytime, Asami." His eyes widen, as if noticing someone behind them. "Oh, hey, General Iroh!"

She turns her head slightly to watch the General of the United Forces approach them, his military suit replaced with one fitting for a festival, his red and gold collar standing up crisply. "Hello, Bolin. Good to see you again." Bowing to both of them, Iroh gently takes Asami's gloved hand in his and kisses it in a way befit of a gentleman, if not a prince. "And happy birthday, Miss Sato."

"Good evening, General Iroh," Asami says formally. "I trust you are enjoying the festivities."

"A better ball I have never seen," he responds, his voice, as always, surprising her. "With the exception of my mother's, your feast is the most exquisite I've ever had the pleasure of tasting, and you certainly have an ear for hiring musicians. And no need to call me 'General'. My name works wonders."

She smiles, noticing the soft glimmer in his liquid amber eyes starkly different from the hard dull orange of Mako's. "Thank you, Iroh."

Iroh's gaze shifts to Bolin, and he bows once more to her. "Unless you are otherwise occupied, I would delight in a dance with the most beautiful woman in Republic City."

Normally, a blush would rise to her cheeks from such praise, but she is the face of the company now. Instead, she curtsies courteously while Bolin shakes his head rapidly from side to side. "Oh no, she's not with me. I mean, she's next to me, but she's not _with_ me with me." He opens his mouth aimlessly a few times, then glances at the stage. "I think I'll go listen to that music. Over there. Not here." He points at the ground with his index fingers. "And leave you two alone people alone." With that, he vanishes into the crowd.

"It would be my pleasure," Asami answers without skipping a beat. Iroh steps forward, and she recalls her lessons from childhood, her body already swaying with the one-two-three of the music. She places her left hand against his shoulder and chest while he draws her close, the positions echoing push and pull. Her right palm brushes against his gently, their hands touching but not mingling, relying on perfect motion to keep together. This close to the warmth of his body, Asami can faintly smell jasmine tea on his breath and feel the strength in his arms, honed by years of combat. Then Iroh leads with a solitary movement, and the dance is theirs.

One. Two. Three. One. Two. Three. Back. Left. Left. Forward. Right. Right. On and on, turning ever so slightly each time, the dance slow and steady as the heart of her heart. For the first time in months, Asami feels like herself. In his arms, she is safe, as is he, whatever worries and troubles she had disappearing. She is a bird herself, floating upon the floor, the ground cast far away, her gown transformed into feathers and wings. The way Iroh gazes at her, leads her without forcing her to follow but allowing her to, at any moment, break away. She doesn't submit. She follows of her own choice, aware that a misstep would break the perfect dance, but neither of them wants to as the song transitions to a melody she recognises.

Iroh smiles. "You know this song, don't you?" Nodding, Asami continues to waltz, the rhythm so familiar that she doesn't need to concentrate, merely closes her eyes and lets herself be washed into the music, switching smoothly from three beats to four. "It was a favourite of my great-great-uncle, and my grandfather taught it to me." His timbre deepening, he astounds her once more when he begins to sing, softly, his breath tickling the inside of her ear. "Summer, spring . . . winter and fall. . . . Summer, spring . . . winter and fall. . . . Four seasons . . . four loves. . ."

"Four seasons . . . for love." They slow as the melody dies away, the last note shimmering almost visibly around her. Perhaps it is merely the light of the chandeliers overhead, but she would swear the moment glimmers, defies gravity, lifts her onto the clouds.

"I must thank you for the dance." Iroh's hands leave a sense of something missing. He bows to her once more. "Have a lovely birthday, Miss Sato. I hope to dance with you again."

Asami responds with another curtsey. "Enjoy the festivities."

His expression softens. "I think I will."

* * *

"We're going to try this again." In the dark interrogation room at police headquarters, Lin Beifong glares at the ten-year-old girl shivering in the metal chair across the table and slams the clipboard onto the surface. "The Agni Kais kidnapped you. The Red Monsoons were trying to retrieve you."

"No."

She rubs her temples, stomping her bare foot onto the ground. "I know when you're lying," the metalbender snaps, annoyed. "Why did the Agni Kais want you?" The girl doesn't answer. Lin grimaces. "I can see we have to do this the hard way. You're in the Red Monsoons." The girl's heartbeat speeds up; Lin smirks grimly. "You're a high-ranking member." Nothing. "You're Shakku's apprentice." No reply. "You're related to Shakku," she presses, considering what her experience tells her of triad motivations. Heartbeat. Lin's eyes widen, but she doesn't let the girl see. "You're . . . Shakku's daughter?"

Heartbeat.

She turns to stare at the girl sitting across from the table, still shivering.

Not any girl.

The daughter of the leader of the Red Monsoons.

* * *

Korra has never seen so much food in one place in her life, and she doesn't know what to take first. Her fingers fly for the nearest turtle dove egg, but Mako catches her wrist and carefully plucks the stuffed white from its nest of green velvet with chopsticks. "Here." She bites into it, praying nothing sprays or crumbles and stains her blue dress. Something this itchy and uncomfortable could only come from the most expensive store in Republic city. Mako takes her hand, and a heat rages up her arm and fills her. Contently, she swallows the devilled egg and leans over to kiss him. He kisses her in return, biting her lower lip gently in way that sparks a fire in her chest and a tightening just below her navel.

"Korra, I haven't mentioned how beautiful you look tonight." He brushes her hair, running his fingers through the coarse thickness. "You look better with your hair down."

She gazes at the dark red suit he's wearing, the same one he wore at Tarrlok's gala those months ago. Even if it makes her feel a little bit like Asami's replacement, she thinks he fits it perfectly, though she prefers to see him the way he is every day. "You look amazing, too." She notes to herself that she should wear her hair down more often. Not for training or combat. But sometimes, it could be a pleasant surprise for him. "Bolin did your hair, didn't he?"

Awkwardly Mako sweeps it back, feeling the spikes starting to poke up again. "You know me too well." He smiles. "Not that I mind."

Another turtle dove egg vanishes into her mouth. "This food is really good," Korra announces, wiping her chin with her arm but stopping at the firebender's disapproval.

"Manners." She hears the music change to something a tad more fast-paced; Mako seems to sense it too.

"Want to dance?" Korra asks suddenly, dropping the chopsticks.

Mako frowns. "I don't know how to dance," he admits, busying himself with eating some curious orange crisps.

"I don't know how to dance either." She takes some of the crisps and pops one into her mouth but immediately spits it out, wincing as the spice burns her tongue. "That's what makes it fun."

"That's why we shouldn't dance". He sips some of his tea. Korra considers offering him alcohol, which might loosen him up a bit. "I'm not comfortable with dancing."

Raising her eyebrows, she crosses her arms, then thinks better of it and touches his hand. "Please?"

"_No_, Korra." With a shake of his head, Mako returns to the food. "I don't want to make a fool of myself on the dance floor." She gives in, not wanting to argue with him, and instead taps her toes to the beat of the music. Eyebrows knotting together, he glares at the offending foot until she stops. Lowering his plate, Mako catches a crisp between his chopsticks. "Here, try one. They're called fire flakes." He brings it to her lips. Korra hesitates, but the warmth radiating from his amber eyes is too much to bear, and she takes the fire flake from the chopsticks carefully. This time, when the fire hurts her mouth, she closes his eyes and pushes herself to swallow, ignoring the tears that come from the heat. "What do you think?"

"Delicious." She's lying through her teeth. It's worth it, to see the serenity come over his features. A silence settles between them. Panicking, Korra tries desperately to think of something, _anything_ to say. It clicks: Eager to show him something of her world as well, she finds a pot of stewed sea prunes, though these are much fancier than the kind she's used to, some sort of white cream streaking across the surface. The black ladle is large and unwieldy in her sweaty grip when she attempts to spoon out the dish into a bowl, her grasp on the bowl bottom slipping; normally, she'd use waterbending. Mentally, she jots down a note to get started on her retraining in the other bending arts as soon as possible; she misses being the Avatar—not the spiritual giving bending back and restoring balance part, but the kicking everyone's butt at bending part. She knows both parts are important. But somehow it's as if, when Amon took away her bending, he took away her inner fire as well.

Satisfied with the sea prunes, Korra walks back to Mako, but he's talking to another girl at the moment, a girl who is hanging on his every word. Eyes narrowing, she stalks towards them. "Sorry about that, Mako. I was just getting some sea prunes for you, _boyfriend_."

The girl's painted lower lip protrudes, and Mako nods at Korra. "Thank you, Korra. Now, as you were saying?" Smirking, the girl touches her cheek, bringing attention to the rouge masterfully brushed on it, and starts rambling about the Fire Ferrets and pro-bending. Korra wonders if she should have used makeup too. As her frustration at the inability to speak to Mako grows, her thoughts turn from that to wondering if the girl is flammable or not. Balancing the bowl of sea prunes on the table, she jabs the point in the girl's direction.

"Sorry to interrupt, but Mako and I were talking before you butted in." The girl looks to the firebender for defence, but Mako says nothing, and she slips away discreetly. The second she's gone, Korra breathes a sigh of relief and spoons out a sea prune, proffering it to him. Mako arches his eyebrows at the violet lump floating in the brownish purple goo.

"What is _that_?"

Korra grins. "It's a sea prune. It's one of my favourites: We eat them _all the time_ in the Southern Water Tribe." He wrinkles his nose in distaste but takes the spoon between his thumb and forefinger. She jerks it from his grasp and proffers him the utensil again.

"You're making a scene. I can feed myself." Snatching the spoon from her, Mako gulps down the sea prune, disgust distorting his face, and pushes the bowl away, reaching for his glass of tea and drinking down to the last drop. "That tasted horrible." She deflates then, crestfallen, her shoulders slumping, mentally slapping her palm into her face for being such a failure at dating.

"Do you want to dance _now_?" she tries.

He exhales. "I said, _No_."

Looking away miserably, her fingers itching to wrap themselves in his hair, Korra resigns herself to wait until they return home from the gala. Then they can kiss and roll in the hay and allow their inhibitions to fade away. Especially _his_.

Because, with him, just standing around and talking is no fun at all.

* * *

_Commercial break._


	6. The Hideout, Part Two

_And now, a word from our sponsor: Borra is winning by a longshot [sorry Freedom Fighters]. __ At the moment, we have: Borra - 9; Makorra - 3; Bolinora - 2; Irosami - 1; Korrasami - 1; Korroh - 1. It's not too late to turn the tides, but at the moment it looks like Borra's the way._

___Marble Trick Egg Cookies. Eggiest cookies in the United Republic. Eye one, try one, buy one! Marble Trick Foods. The number-one provider for all of your Air Nomad food needs._

___Hello, Flut here. I'm always trying to make my writing the best experience possible for my readers, and I would love to hear your thoughts and your suggestions. Do you want to see more of a certain character? Less of another? Drown one subplot and heighten a different one? Let me know, and I'll do all I can._

_Back to the show._

* * *

The road winds low and long over the usually grassy expanse of the grounds of the Sato mansion, dipping into yellowed valleys and gliding between knells bursting with white flowers even in the dead of winter, though the petals sag and the slightest breeze seems to rip them from the ground. Streaks of snow remain from last night's fall, the frost setting in rapidly after the all too brief autumn, the bright red of the new satomobile starkly distinct from the rest of the landscape like a bright fire in the midst of a snowy wood, the final hope of survival for those caught in the blizzard's icy jaws. The dead and dying grass makes Bolin's stomach churn as he looks out over the path, frowning. His brother, standing half a metre away and leaning against the door of the satomobile, senses his discomfort and walks over, placing one gloved hand on the earthbender's shoulder.

"Hey, Bo, what's wrong?" Mako asks, surprised at his brother's unhappiness, concern creeping unbidden into his voice.

The earthbender shrugs and rubs the back of his neck. "I don't know, bro. I've been feeling weird since this morning. Can't really explain it. Keep seeing dead plants everywhere."

Mako exhales, shaking his head. "Yes, Bolin, that's what happens in the winter. Plants die. You don't have to make a scene."

"I'm not!" he protests furiously, lifting a hand against the chilling wind. "It's like the spirits are trying to tell me something. You know, ever since I saw Korra glow it up in the Avatar State way back in the south, I feel like the spirits are close. Know what I mean?"

It's the firebender's turn to frown, the familiar argument leaving a bitter taste on his tongue, and he casts his gaze over the endless field of safforn-green stretching over the grounds, mentally calculating how much time it will take them to drive through the course and return. "Bolin, we've been over this before. The spirits don't exist."

"Who doesn't exist?"

The smooth melody of Asami's luscious voice murmurs music to his ears, and Mako turns towards her, raising a hand in hello. Clad in a skin-tight racing outfit bolstering her already impressive curves and wearing those green-tinted goggles, Asami is as breath-taking as the day she ran over him on her moped. Admiring the flawless makeup and expert choice of dress, he remembers the initial blaze of what he thought was love—more lust for her beauty and her body—and fights to keep the guilt of what he did to her from seeping into his words. "Never mind." He doesn't want to get into the argument with the heiress as well. He doesn't want to get into any arguments with her so soon on the heels of their failed relationship. "You look great."

"Thank you." Asami smiles, the corners of her mouth turning up in a way reminiscent of the rest of her curves. Mako sucks in a breath. It's the one thing he doesn't like about Korra: The baggy clothing, the lack of attention to personal appearance, the acting and looking the part of a guy. She's gotten better about the acting part, and he knows that she is beautiful as well, but even still, he wishes she could show off that beauty a little bit more. Not a lot. But a little would be nice.

Bolin and Asami are already jabbering about the specifics of the new satomobile, the model name escaping his thoughts but passing between the two car aficionados so many times he can't forget: The Eel Hound. She runs a hand over the shining surface and leans over it to start the engine, her profile in full view. Mako forces himself to look away, a memory of Korra reminding him why he loves her: The way she moves, fluid as water, twisting and twirling with a promise of more to come.

She can bend his water any day.

"Coming, bro?" Now from the passenger seat, one arm hanging over the side of the satomobile, Bolin waves to him, pointing at the back. His half-leering grin makes Mako narrow his eyes. "Called front while you weren't looking. Come on, sit down!"

The firebender sighs and relegates himself to the back, leaning forward to place his elbows on both of their seats; he remembers how and Korra sat in the back together the night before she was kidnapped by Tarrlok, her warm smile making his heart soar. But that was back when he had to hide his affections for her. Now, she's officially his. Flipping her hair back, Asami shifts the vehicle into first gear and pushes her foot on the accelerator. Bolin grins excitedly, almost jumping up and down in his seat, but his gaze settles on the smirk the heiress no doubt is wearing, fitting as perfectly as anything in her wardrobe. "Ready?"

His brother punches the air with both fists. "Born ready! This is going to be the craziest ride _ever_!" Mako makes a noise of affirmation, and the satomobile shoots forward. Wind slicks his hair back and caresses his face, the thrill of the ride affecting even him, though he doesn't care much for vehicles. Engulfing in the freedom of the moment, he closes his eyes, enjoying the moment while it lasts.

The satomobile tears through the road, every dip accompanied by a jar that sets his teeth on edge, every turn ripping through the vehicle to send his heart pulsing. At first, it's fun, this unanticipated feeling of carving forward into territory unknown, but after several moments he starts to become a tad uneasy.

Perhaps Bolin was right.

Not about the spirits. But about a bad feeling in the air.

He waves the thought away. "Nonsense," he mutters to himself.

"What?" Asami calls. Bolin doesn't appear to have heard, his fingers dancing along the vehicle's surface as though imprinting each imperfection in the metal to memory.

"Nothing." Mako raises his tone to fight against the powerful wind.

The heiress spins the wheel in a way that causes the firebender's stomach to drop and be left a few metres behind him. He winces, feeling queasy, and glances out over the side of the satomobile to take his mind from the crazy ride that Bolin _did_ promise him. Dead grass, flowers, a river of melting snow. Beyond the swell of yellowed plants, something catches his eye, the sunlight glinting off of some sort of glossy material. He wonders if he should mention it or keep quiet, but Asami continues the drive, the glint fades and the object causing it becomes clear: A shack of some kind. Mako taps his brother on the shoulder. "Wait, Bo, do you see that?"

"See what?"

He nods towards the shack. Bolin squints, then widens his eyes as he notices the construction. "Asami, what's that house thing over there?"

"House thing?" Her shoulders stiffen visibly, her sweet tone abruptly changing to one of anger, dumbfounding Mako. He senses the satomobile slow to a crawl, the heiress dropping back swiftly through the gears. Running through the options, he's up in an instant, swinging his legs over the side of the vehicle door to land roughly on the ground. Removing an electrified gauntlet from the glove compartment, Asami follows suit, the shack hidden by the hill growing into definition as they approach. By the time Mako hears Bolin stumbling up behind him, crying out for them to wait, the construction is in plain sight: A tool-shed affair without windows, a padlock fastened to the door.

He tenses and glares accusingly at Asami, whose expression is oddly distant. "I scoured most of the grounds to weed out any Equalist hideouts," she whispers, more to herself than to the firebender. "Maybe we missed one. . . ."

"Guys, wait up!" His brother pants as he reaches them, but his voice shifts to one of awe. "Whoa . . . what in the world is _that_?"

"I don't know." A fire blazes in Mako's hand. "But I'm about to find out."

* * *

"What?" Dropping the scroll, Tenzin stares in disbelief at the brown-clad woman in front of him. "We will never agree to these terms."

The pin displaying a set of scales fixed on her chest, the woman smirks smugly. "You will have to."

Tenzin glances upwards at the makeshift composed of him, Korra, his brother, and diplomats from the Fire Nation, Earth Kingdom, and Water Tribe, thrown together at the last moment to appease those crying out for justice. It's scarcely half an hour into the meeting, but already the signs of wanting to be somewhere else waft off of most of those present. Jiao, his scarlet and gold collar poking into his neck, fiddles with his writing utensils below the desk while Chenga cannot seem to keep her eyes open, her fingers twitching. The Water Tribe diplomat, whose name has flown from Tenzin's head, tugs on one of his dual braids in a manner reminding him of Tarrlok. And Bumi is more interested in the glassy marbles clinking in the palm of his hand than the proceedings.

On his right side, Korra looks distant, her pen scratching out scribbles on her pad of paper that take a crude shape, one he roughly recognises as Mako. Clearing his throat, Tenzin raps once on the table and returns to the matter at hand.

"Perhaps you should read us these . . . terms, Councilman Tenzin," Jiao states finally. "I'm certain the council wishes to be privy on your secrets."

He manages to maintain his professional composure. "Yes, yes, of course. 'The Citywide Association for the Advancement of Nonbending Persons reserves the right to alter or add to the subsequent list at any point during negotiations.

"'The beginning terms for negotiation are as follows: All benders in Republic City must register, no matter ability, age, or socioeconomic level. Benders found unregistered within three months of the passage of the law and/or acquiring the knowledge that one is a bender will be punished and detained until registration is complete.

"'Employers across the city will be encouraged to hire nonbenders in place of benders through tax incentives. For every nonbender the employer hires, a certain undetermined amount of yuans will be removed from the tax. For every bender the employer hires, the same undetermined amount of yuans will be added to the tax.

"'Nonbenders and benders are required to receive the same pay for equivalent work.

"'A new council will created, one that utilises a democratic system. Half of the council will be composed of nonbenders, half of the council by benders, with an additional tiebreaker who is also a nonbender.

"'The council will impose restrictions on when, where, and in what fashion bending can be used. Bending outside of the restrictions is illegal. Crimes assisted by bending will be punished twice as severely as crimes not assisted by bending. Bending outside of the restriction sis considered a crime assisted by bending.' Those are the terms offered to us by the Association." Tenzin sets down the scroll and grimaces. "Thank you, Citywide Association for the Advancement of Nonbending Persons."

"Inconceivable," the Water Tribe diplomat barks, smashing his fist on the table. "We won't stand for it!"

The woman quirks an eyebrow. "Of course not. You're sitting."

"No one will make a mockery of us benders!"

Jiao reaches out an arm, clapping the diplomat on the back. "Calm down, Hado. I'm certain that we will get through this. There's no need for all the excitement."

"Yeah, just chill out." Bumi shoves the marble back into his pocket and sits up, scooting the chair forward with a squeak that makes Tenzin wince. "So, lady, got a few questions for you and your plan."

Respectfully, the woman bows. "Yes, Councilman Bumi?"

He waves his hand carelessly, nearly knocking Chenga in the head. "Name's not Councilman Bumi. Just Bumi's fine. Anywho, you said we got to have half and half benders and nonbenders working for us, right?" She bows once more. "What about them power plants? It's all lightningbenders over there."

"The precise phrase," Jiao says mildly, "is _lightning generator_."

"Eh, you and your silly Fire Nation customs." Bumi leans forward, his eyebrows arched. "So what do you do about lightningbenders and other places like that? Can't see a nonbender making electricity."

The woman frowns. "That is not the Association's issue. The employers will have to work out the specifics, but our law will prevent the underemployment of nonbenders causing an overrepresentation of them in the unemployed."

"Inconceivable!" Hado yells again.

Another rap on the desk silences him, at least for a time. Tenzin lowers the gavel, his innards roiling as it slowly dawns on him exactly what the nonbenders want: A complete and utter tearing down of the rules and an erection of new ones meant to strip the powers of bending away, if not physically as the Equalists tried to do, then politically. De facto instead of de jure. But either way, its power will be silenced.

"Affirmative action has never been part of Republic City culture," he hears himself say. "But my father wanted for the city to see peace and balance in every aspect, and so in his legacy I will fight for equality for the nonbenders." The woman's smirk grows wider. "The council and I will discuss these matters at our next hearing to be held in three days' time. Until then, the meeting is adjourned."

As the gavel rings out, the members of the makeshift council disappear. Tenzin motions towards Korra, and she looks up for the first time since the meeting began, dark circles around her eyes. "Are you all right, Korra? You seem distracted."

"Fine," she mumbles, scrunching her crude drawing on Mako and tossing it into the waste-bin. "What do you want from me?"

He hesitates. "Nothing, Korra. I'm proud of you for staying through these council meetings." Korra looks at him, a small smile parting her lips. He touches her shoulder gently. "I know how much you would prefer to be doing . . . other things. And I am proud of you for putting the needs of your people first."

She bows her head. Before Tenzin can continue, his brother breaks in: "Hey, Dad!" Referencing her past life, Bumi walks across the table, his black boots leaving prints on the wood, drops down behind the counter, and messily ruffles Korra's hair. "Nice speech you gave there. Real proud of you."

Confused, she tilts her head to one side. Tenzin clears his throat. "My brother is trying to say that you didn't contribute very much to the discussion."

Her face falls, the weariness of the last several spent restoring bending to the police force starting to catch up to her. "I'm just messing around with you, Dad." Bumi elbows Korra in the ribs and gives her a one-armed hug. "You know you're the coolest of the bunch."

She shrugs. "Sometimes it doesn't feel like that."

* * *

The sunlight peeks through the open window at the west side of the library, the breeze from the bay fluttering the white curtains and winding through the room only to be stopped by a pile of scrolls and tomes. Setting the first book aside, Jinora leafs through the second, her trained gaze picking out the necessary waterbending diagrams. The airy library situated at the base of the temple has always been her favourite place to hide away from everyday life, and now that Bolin comes to visit most days, it has become her favourite place on the island.

Slouching in her chair across the table and not touching her tea, Korra apparently disagrees.

"Look at this one." The airbender slides the scroll to the Avatar, who glances at it idly.

"I know the forms, Jinora." Her fist clenches involuntarily. "It's the bending that refuses to come to me."

Jinora exhales and nibbles on her egg cookie, placing it back neatly on the napkin. "Have you tried training with my grandmother?"

"No duh." Korra clicks her teeth together in frustration. "Katara practically raised me."

"I meant now. While she's here, on Air Temple Island, you could try to relearn waterbending with her."

Her eyebrows angle themselves into a V. "I just told you, I know the forms. I _know_ all the stuff Katara could teach me." She flicks her wrist up, but the tea in the cup doesn't quiver, much less levitate. Puffing out an angry breath, the Avatar lets her hand drop into her lap. "I miss being able to kick everyone's butt. I hate being powerless."

"Oh, powerless in my presence, I see." While Korra snaps up straight, her spine erect, her expression one of indignation, Jinora notices the pale man leaning in the doorway to the library, dark circles below his eyes, a quirk in his smirk.

Whoever it is, Korra obviously doesn't like him. With a grunt she pushes herself up from her chair, crosses the room with her wide strides eating up the distance, and prods her index finger into his chest. "What are _you_ doing here, pretty boy?"

Brushing her hand away, he gasps in mock surprise. "For our date, of course, Uhvatar. I heard you were having issues waterbending." He sneers. "After you give me my bending back, I could give you some private lessons."

"I said no the first time, and I'm saying no again." Korra crosses her arms. "Get out of here."

Jinora beams. "Hello. Would you like an egg cookie or a cup of tea? What brings you to our lovely island?"

The man raises an eyebrow. "See, those are called _manners_. I know they're an elusive species for you, Uhvatar, but you should take notes." He creeps over to the table with motions make her think of a wave rolling over a shore of sand. The egg cookie crumbles in his grip, but he catches the crumbs and flicks them unceremoniously at Korra, whose eyes twitch from her growing fury. "I'm here because the Uhvatar oh so _graciously_ invited me to her humble home to give me back what once was mine."

Inclining her head, the airbender lets out an _oh _of understanding. "Your bending."

"Now there's a smart cookie." He winks. "I wonder if you're delicious as a cookie as well."

Korra grabs his wrist and wrenches his arm until he cries out slightly. "You're such a pansy, Tahno," she snaps, irritation dripping from every word. "You can hit on me, but you're not hitting on a ten-year-old. Want your bending back? Come and get it."

Tahno jerks his arm from her grip and rubs his wrist, angrily at first, then faintly seductively, leering at the Avatar. "Well then, to my knees for the great _Uhvatar_." Placing the egg cookie back on the table, he lowers himself smoothly, like a viper cat or a trickle of water, and smirks up at her. "I promise not to be _too_ rough."

Jinora watches Korra struggle to contain the rage etched into every wrinkle on her face as she places her hands onto the man's forehead and chest. Breath caught in her throat, the airbender curious to see her friend's eyes glow in the Avatar State. Korra's muscles and tendons shake with tension and effort; steadily, Tahno's sneer is wiped from his face, replaced with a distant expression of despair, one that she can tell does not belong on his features, unnatural and twisted at it looks. After an eternity she breaks the connection and gazes in horror at her arms, the blankness in her eyes like that of a dead man. "I can't do it."

Blinking, Jinora takes a thoughtful tiny bite of her egg cookie. "Maybe you were too angry." She smiles encouragingly. "You've been very angry lately."

Crossing her arms, Korra glares at Tahno. "It's your fault! Your spirit is resisting!"

"You had _one_ job, Uhvatar. _One_ job." The corner of his mouth twitches in a way that makes the airbender's skin crawl.

"No. Your spirit. . . . I can't explain it." Korra backs away from them, her loud exhalations clearly just on the brink from full-blown panic. "It was resisting me. You don't really _want_ to be get your bending back."

The egg cookie is back between his long fingers. "I do. You've failed, Uhvatar." Tahno looks away. "You really are a loser."

* * *

_Commercial break._


	7. The Hideout, Part Three

_And now, a word from our sponsor: Borra is winning by a longshot [sorry Freedom Fighters]. __At the moment, we have: Borra - 12; Makorra - 6; Bolinora - 3; Irosami - 3; Korrasami - 1; Korroh - 1, Masami - 1; Tahnorra - 1. It's not too late to turn the tides, but at the moment it looks like Borra's the way._

___The little ten-year-old girl in the cell is Shakku's daughter from the previous chapter. In animation, you'd be able to tell from how she looked, but since it's not animation, it's important to note she's one and the same._

___To clarify: Her father, Shakku, is nicknamed the Shark Rat - and the symbol of the Red Monsoons is the shark rat - because the Red Monsoon territory is in the sewers, where multitudes of the shark rats live. Shakku, a superstitious man, believes that eating the heart of a shark rat that he himself wrestled and caught is a way to grow stronger and find favour with the spirits. Unfortunately, wrestling with potentially diseased shark rats . . . is dangerous._

___None of these chapters have been edited; I'm currently looking for a beta reader. If interested contact me away, and thank you!_

_Back to the show._

* * *

Shading Mako, Bolin and Asami from the sun on the other side of the sky, the shack seems uninhabited. Extinguishing the fire in his hands, Mako glances towards his brother, his mouth a thin line. "Bolin," he says urgently, "can you feel anything?"

Bolin blinks in confusion for a moment before it dawns on him, his eyes widening, his mouth turning into an _O_. "Ohh. You mean like seismic sense?"

The firebender resists the urge to roll his eyes or slap his face with the palm of his hand. "Yes, I mean seismic sense."

"Oh, _sorry_." Closing his eyes, the earthbender reaches down to remove his shoe, flailing on one leg for a few minutes. Mako sighs: If any Equalists inside haven't heard them yet, they definitely have now. At last, Bolin stomps his foot into the ground, his face distorted with his concentration that seems more akin to one suffering from constipation.

"Well? What do you feel?" Asami breaks in, her expression of worry and pain bringing Mako to place his hand on her shoulder. He can't stand to see her this upset, a voice in his mind begging him to protect her from the truth if it's out there.

His brother frowns. "I . . . can't feel anything. Don't think my seismic sense is good enough yet."

Mako's eyebrows twitch, and his grip on Asami's shoulder tightens. "Stay here. I'm going to check it out."

Removing her helmet and placing it carefully at her feet, she shakes her head. "I'm going with you."

"Asami, I don't think that's a good idea." His timbre hardens, and he glares pointedly into her emerald eyes, surprised by the strength he sees deep in the green, a strength that wasn't there before. What has he missed? "_Stay outside_."

"No." Asami pulls her shoulder out of his grasp and gestures for Bolin to follow her; hastily yanking his shoe back on, the earthbender falls into step behind her. Mako's eyes narrow, a lick of fire escaping from his palm. Before either of them can approach the shack, he is front of them, his fingers around the padlock. "Mako, what are you doing?"

As he starts to melt the bar of metal connecting the padlock to the door, he ignores her question. "Get back in the satomobile. There's no telling what's on the other side, and I don't want to see you or Bolin get hurt."

"Bro, calm down." A sudden fury sparking in his chest at Bolin siding _with_ Asami, Mako snaps his head to stare at his brother, but the tranquillity and genuine concern in Bolin's expression causes the firebender to nod. "I don't think there's anyone here. Just get it open, bro."

His anger fuelling his bending, he pushes all of himself into the heat pouring from his palm until he feels the padlock give way. Then, stepping back, Mako furls up his strength and power and unleashes it in a swift kick. The door shudders, the metal groaning as something in the hinges snap. Another kick, and the iron caves in, crashing with a cacophonous sound onto the floor of the shack. Immediately he begins to cycle his arms, prepared to generate lightning at any unanticipated foes, but he doesn't see movement in the dank darkness left behind, a lack of windows or lanterns leaving the shack in shadow. On his left, Bolin dashes inside, pausing just beyond the threshold. As his eyes adjust, Mako creates a fiery torch for some sort of light and sweeps his gaze calculatingly across the inside: Black-painted walls leeching out any source of brightness built about a room disconcertingly empty except for several large bags piled in the centre.

Suspicious of the bags, he squats down and trails his forefinger along the ground, rubbing the dirt between his fingers. His breath catches, and he forces himself to remain calm: There's not nearly enough dust to account for the weeks since Hiroshi Sato was arrested. "Someone's been here recently."

Asami is shaking her head, touching her gloved hand to her forehead. "No, no, no, this can't be happening. It _can't_. We had the entire grounds checked out."

"Um, guys?" Mako looks up to see Bolin standing next to the heap of bags. Something's off. In the air. The ambiance. Something—though he doesn't know what—isn't right about the shack.

"What is it, Bolin?"

His brother inhales. "Are these what I think they are? Because they can't be what I think they are. I'm thinking wrong again."

"What are you . . ." Mako's voice trails off as he stares at the bags, specific features slowly outlining themselves amid the darkness. Areas of light where there should be material blocking it. Small protrusions and bumps that seem too unnatural to exist. His heart rate increases, his heart beating painfully against his sternum as he realises what he's looking at.

They're not bags.

They're _bodies_.

* * *

Bars. It's all she's ever seen. It's all she'll ever seen. Bars across her back, leaving ragged scars where the whips touch her. Bars across the items she can never hope to buy, can only gaze at, can only watch others gain from afar with envy chilling her blood. And now bars across her vision, cold and metal, slices of black and white melting at the edges of reality to form the grey that birthed her and will eventually take her back into the steely grip of death. Beyond them there is nothing but another cell, this one empty as her life will be soon enough.

There is no water here. If there was, she would have escaped long ago. But the air they pump into her cell is drier than the golden sands of the Si Wong Desert, one she's never seen but heard of in stories and song. No better way to pass the time in the wet, frigid sewer stuck in perpetual night than myths of arid heat in endless day. She has already tried to work up a sweat, but the sudden temperature drop forbade . . . and informed her that she is being monitored.

No matter. She'll find a way through it. She _has_ to. She can't survive in this cell for much longer.

Her fingers clench the bars until the brown fades to white, but they do not budge. Her blood flows mockingly through her veins, taunting her to bend it, but she can feel that the moon will not reach its apex of power for half a month's time.

She needs out.

_Now_.

Jerking her neck, she tries to sink her teeth into the flesh of her arm, intending to rip it away and reveal the pooling crimson underneath in a desperate effort to escape, but the chains around her neck and wrists preventing her from reaching, her teeth clacking frantically a mere centimetre away from her skin. But the serrated rim of the chains has already had its turn to play vampyre, a trickle of warm blood running down her arm and soaking the hem of the white prisoner uniform.

A small smile parts her lips to reveal sharp canines, filed by her father to pass on the symbol of the shark rat that adorns the Red Monsoon sigil.

Gesturing her head upwards, she makes to bend her blood.

But it's not enough. The liquid is sucked into the dryness of the air, her knowledge of being monitored halting her from attempting to slowly wear the bars down. She cannot wait that long.

It has to be _now_.

Her neck snaps up, the smooth rim of the shackle about her throat refusing to draw blood, the decision to die taken from her as well.

But not forever.

The guards outside her cell hold the key to her escape. She closes her eyes, sensing the blood pulsing through their unsuspecting bodies, pushed forward by their hearts, red and vibrant as those of the shark rats her father bid her eat to make her strong. The memory of metal melts in her mouth, her ears ringing with her own screams, rejecting the heart proffered her, unable to stomach the agony of the innocent shark rats.

She needs out, but there is no full moon.

No matter.

She will make her own.

* * *

_Caw_. Its sharp gaze cast over the sprawling city stretching below its sable wings, the lizard crow soars over the statue of Fire Lord Zuko towering above an alleyway filled with starving children and homeless poor, drowning in their own poverty, glassy eyes staring blankly into the poofy white clouds floating serenely through the cheery blue sky. As the lizard crow continues its journey, its beak opening and closing noisily, the muscles in its wings straining against its sternum, it comes across a dull flood of people swarming across the cement.

"Equality! Equality! Equality!" The shouts of the protestors mingle with the horns of incoming satomobiles, the traffic in the congested downtown of the city made unbearable by the marchers and protestors ripping through it. The signs plastered with demands and slogans scrap the sky as those marching, each clad in grey or brown, push forward through the street, more and more coming pouring out of the houses crowding for space on either side of the road, some sporting paint or wild adornments, most merely nonbenders swept up with the spirit and passion of the masses. "Equality! Equality! Equality!"

The bird circles around the mob, searching for a trampled protestor usable for a meal, idly watching those caught in the traffic jam to storm from their vehicles and yell at the marchers, causing them to merely hold up their signs more proudly and raises their voices. Scuffles break out at the peripheries of the crowd, bolts of flame and chunks of earth fired at the protestors, frustration and anger roiling and coming undone. The lizard crow banks, spotting what appears to be a young girl pushed into the side of the road. Cries of "Equalists!" and "Amon supporters!" serve only to ignite the embers of the inferno already blazing forth, and the situation seems to be growing worse by the second as the protestors surge towards City Hall.

A stray shot of fire arcs upwards as the lizard crow nears its potential dinner, incinerating the bird in seconds, a few ashen feathers drifting on the wind and towards the police blockade surrounding City Hall. Beifong catches one when it flutters by, releasing it in an instant. Next to her, dressed in a touch of protective armour like the kind she wore on the task force, waits Korra, biting her lower lip.

"Last time there was a protest like this, I was on the nonbenders' side." She lowers her gaze, her twin wolftails touching her shoulders. "I don't know about this."

Beifong frowns, tapping the megaphone held in her right hand. "This isn't like that, Korra. Those protestors were complaining about the power that Tarrlok unfairly shut down." She sweeps her arm towards the incoming wave. "These are protesting what the council is already working on."

Korra looks out over the crowd. A handful of citizens in the back are giving out more signs to those who have none, most of them displaying the character for _equality_ or _balance_. Her thoughts drift on the wind, her uncertainty manifesting itself in the buttermoths buzzing in her stomach, her throat dry, a trickle of sweat dotting her brow even through the cold of the winter morning. She feels caught on the wrong side of the battle, her heart going out to the freezing protestors waving signs through the pain and soreness in their arms. Refusing to grant the nonbenders access to the council. . . . It's exactly what the man in the park told her that day. _Is_ she oppressing them? Never mind the police officers she's spent her morning returning bending to: If she can't even return the bending of people so much worthier of the power than she, what can she do?

Tahno's words echo in her mind: _You've failed, Avatar. You really are a loser._

_Really are a loser._

_Loser._

She shakes her head to block out his voice.

_You've failed, Avatar._

_Failed._

"I've failed at so much," she whispers to the air, speaking more to her past lives than to anyone else. "How do I know if I'm making the right decision?"

Beifong glances at her, the police chief's expression softening slightly. "Korra, you need to stop doubting yourself. You don't have to bend all four elements to be strong." Korra looks up at the older woman, a hesitant smile on her face. "When Amon took my bending away, I felt like nothing. I could barely reach my own house: I was trapped in my uniform." Beifong laughs harshly. "You're trapped as the Avatar. But unlike me, you had the power to turn the Avatar into an asset, and you did." She flexes her fingers, bending a snake of metal out of the cache on her wrist and returning it. "Thank you for restoring my bending, and the bending of my officers, _Avatar_ Korra."

Korra nods and gazes once more at the crowd. She still isn't sure if she should be fighting against the protestors. But she _is_ the Avatar, and it _is_ her duty to protect the council.

Isn't it?

* * *

Outside of the shack, the sun is bright, the day beginning to settle into the afternoon. Inside the shack, darkness reigns, shadows swarming over the three standing about the pile. Staring in horror at the bodies, Bolin feels sick to his stomach, the bile rising in his throat and threatening to come forcefully out of him. Stumbling, he takes a step away, rubbing his elbows, his skin clammy and cold. Flashes of the dead and dying children he saw growing up on the street rush through his mind, so strongly he backs up, nearly falling on his rear. His breathing rapid from his fear, he watches Mako kneel down next to the bodies, pulling at the gloves on his hands.

A crackle of electricity sparks from Asami's electrified gauntlet. "Bolin? Are you all right?"

He shakes his head, staring at his brother, who carefully touches one of the bodies. "They're cold," the firebender announces hollowly, his tone empty as a barren field of ash.

Bolin almost doesn't understand. Almost. "Are they . . . you know . . . ?"

Keeping the flame of light going in his right hand, Mako gingerly hooks his left under one of them, turning it over, and abruptly an expression of surprise and relief washes over his face as his form visibly relaxes. "They're dummies." He stands up, lifting the body. Immediately Bolin puts his hand over his eyes, terrified of what he could see.

"There's no face," Asami says quietly, her voice betraying how disturbed she is. "They _are_ dummies. Practice dummies. Like someone was training how to fight."

As he lowers his arm, Bolin sees what Mako and Asami meant: Although the body is realistic enough to be a true corpse—an ashy elderly woman clad in a red and gold robe, like that of Fire Nation nobility—the face is merely smooth skin, the artist apparently too poor to include even a nose.

He can't help but chuckle shortly, not out of mirth but out of relief. "Oh man, and we thought—" It's cut off by a sudden realisation. "But then who was using them?"

Asami frowns. "I don't know. I think I recognise them."

Mako looks dumbfounded, dropping the woman dummy and picking up another, this of a severe-looking man from the Water Tribe. The third and last is dressed in the forest green of the Earth Kingdom, the colour sparking a memory in Bolin's thoughts. "You think someone based these off of real people?"

"I think she's right." The earthbender walks towards the bodies—the dummies, he means, not bodies—his skin crawling. Something's still off about these dummies. Something he can't quite name. "Remember when we thought that the Pro-bending Arena was going to be closed?" Mako inclines his head. "And Korra took us to City Hall?" The firebender's eyes narrow; he gazes at the Water Tribe dummy in his grip.

"They look like the members of the United Republic Council," Asami finishes. Bolin feels his tongue flop around uselessly inside his mouth, uncertain of what to say or do. He continues to ogle at the body of the Earth Kingdom man, or, rather, his dummy. Something's off. _Something._

Mako is shaking his head. "This doesn't make sense. The councilmen disappeared weeks ago. I thought Amon kidnapped them. Who would make dummies?"

"Maybe someone who hates them?" she suggests, thoughtfully holding her chin in her non-gloved hand. Trying to breathe past the panic-filled lump in his throat, Bolin forces himself to stare at the Earth Kingdom dummy, his gaze travelling over the sleeve to the skin of the arm that shows, the flesh unusually ruddy, as if the artist who made them didn't have the correct paint. "But they disappeared a long time ago, and these are recent. . . ."

"Something's not adding up here." The firebender returns the dummy to the ground, placing it next to that of the Earth Kingdom man. "But I don't know what." Bolin reaches out and yanks at the dummy's sleeve, images of ruddy, bloated bodies flooding his thoughts when he uncovers the flesh beyond the robe. It's not discoloured paint. It's . . .

"Hey, guys?" Bolin's voice sounds strangled, as though someone has stabbed his abdomen through with a curved sword. "They're . . . they're not . . . _dummies_. . . ."

Mako grimaces, frustrated. "What are you talking about, Bolin? Of course they're dummies." Bolin tugs on his shirt, and the firebender glances down. "What else could they—"

The skin above the sleeve is half-decayed, a streak of brown and purple rippling up the so-called dummy's arm, dried blood puckering at the edges of an old wound sliced through flesh, a trail of greenish pus yet oozing, ripe with disease, from one corner, the infection from the cut too much for the dead body to handle, the arm slowly coming apart as it is eaten away from the inside out.

Asami's hand flies to her mouth as she jerks forward, clearly struggling not to retch. The room tilts around her, her head reeling, her vision clouding with shades of dark green, violet, and crimson, shades that do not belong on a human. She spins and makes to leave the shack, the noises bursting from her utterly inhuman.

Bolin is with her in an instant, steadying her. "It's okay. You don't have to look," he tells her over and over while she shudders, the vomit hurtling into her mouth, burning her throat. "It's okay. It's okay." Mako, too, is there, mere seconds after his brother, his grasp strong on her elbow and hip, and the two of them hold her until the spasm passes, and she lifts herself weakly from the floor, keeping her eyes tightly closed.

"They're not dummies," she mutters, unable to look at it but also unable to pretend it doesn't exist. Bolin removes his hands; Asami smiles gratefully at him, pleased that he sensed when she no longer needs him, but Mako refuses to relinquish her. "They're the old councilpeople, aren't they?"

"They are." The firebender makes a sound of confirmation.

Asami pulls away from her former boyfriend's grip, sparking a tiny crackle in her gauntlet to reassure herself. Standing erect now, she feels her confidence return, the shock of seeing the decay already fading. "But what happened to their faces?"

"We need to tell Korra," Bolin interjects. "We need to tell her _now_."

Mako glances sharply at him. "Now's not the time, bro."

"Your brother's right, Mako." Asami gestures towards the open door and to the Eel Hound parked in the grass. "We have to tell Korra and the rest of the city. It's the _council_."

The firebender hesitates, an odd mixture of worry, anger, discomfort, guilt, and sadness passing over his face prior to a swift nod of agreement. "Fine. Let's go." While Bolin and Asami leave rapidly, he glances back over his shoulder one final time. A movement in the corner of his eye alerts him, and he stares at the spot.

But there's nothing. No movement at all.

* * *

The wave breaks.

Signs jutting into the air, shouts and curses flying through the sky like a cloud of arrows, the nonbenders reach the blockade. Some attempt to climb over the barriers, tearing through the yellow caution tape, but they are quickly held back by police officers, snakes of metal hissing where mere commands fail. "Equality! Equality! Equality!" The chant swells, a prayer of an oppressed people, taking a stand at last.

Wasting no time, Beifong lifts her megaphone to her lips. "Attention citizens of Republic City!" she calls out, causing a brief break in the cacophony. "As chief of the police, I promise you that the council is discussing the issues now. Please return to your homes, and equality and balance _will_ be restored to the city."

Korra closes her eyes, her hands balling involuntarily into fists.

Tarrlok said the same.

The protestors surge forward. "Restore?" screams one man, the green scarf around his neck reminiscent of Mako's. "We never had equality in the first place!" The crowd agrees, more yells rising, sending blood roaring in Korra's ears. Several rocks soar swift and true towards the metalbenders only to be crushed with earthbending. Her expression hardening at the projectiles, Beifong snaps the megaphone's power off with a muted _buzz_.

"Forget it." To Korra's horror, the police chief signals her officers to move forward, metalbending the barriers to forcibly push the masses back. The protestors shriek, invoke the spirits, accuse the officers of acts the Avatar never wanted to hear. When the metalbender begin their backwards assault, a handful from the crowd scatter, but the rest surge forward, a clash about to start in the centre of the city. Beifong barks orders: "Make sure no one is hurt! Push them _back_!" But her caution fall on deaf ears, the protestors using whatever they have to pelt the metalbenders, who have no choice but to act in self-defence.

Surrounded by the discord, chased by chaos, buried in a landslide of sound and colour, Korra feels her pulse quicken, her breaths becoming rapid, frantic, her spirit engulfing the panic. Just below the surface of her skin the Avatar State roils, threatening to spring forth now, here, where she doesn't need it, where she can't use it, where it would do nothing but hurt everyone around her.

Amid the line of police officers standing their ground, Korra airbends herself up on a vortex of wind.

"It's the Avatar! The Avatar will save us!" A cheer and applause spreads through the ocean of protestors. Dashing away from her mother's side, a young barefoot girl of perhaps four pumps her tiny fist into the air, her skin wrapped loosely around the prominent bone of her arm. "Awwie-tar!" she yelps, her voice dissolving into coughs of sickness and malnutrition. "Awwie-tar, help!"

Gazing at these people, _her_ people, Korra knows she has to protect them. Not the council, but these people, the poor and the weak, the hungry and the ill, the needy and the suffering from oppression and inequality. The Avatar State reaches out from the core of her body, spreading into her limbs, her vision flickering silver as she fights to stay conscious. "I _will_ help you, Republic City!" she screams, raising a fist in a motion identical to the barefoot girl's. "I am the Avatar, and I will help my people!" The rest of her words are drowned in the orchestra of victorious cries and shouts, the protestors overjoyed at the Avatar's support.

A metal cord wraps itself around her ankle and jerks her to the ground. Beifong grabs her by the shoulders; Korra is surprised by the anger in the chief's sharp green eyes. "What have you _done_?"

She struggles out of the metalbenders's grip. "I'm the Avatar, and I have to help my—"

Beifong's nails dig in. "We need to talk about this—"

"Korra!"

Both women glare at the intrusion: Bolin, standing on an earthbent platform behind the blockade, Mako and Asami on either side. "Korra!" he calls again, his voice cracking. "Come here!"

Something in his timbre—an urgency, a desperation—forces the Avatar to airbend herself out of Beifong's grasp, launching herself over the heads of the metalbending officers, and land on the other side. "What's going on?" Korra yells the second she's in earshot, her three friends hurrying to meet her.

Mako is the first to reach her, wrapping her in a tight embrace, the tenseness of his muscles betraying his fear and panic. "It's bad." As she pulls away from him, she glances at his face, terrified of the sharp shards in his amber eyes and the strange pain twisted across his features. "Come on. We have to show you something."

* * *

Written by

**Flutflutflyer**

Directed by

**Flutflutflyer**


	8. Fire and Ice, Part One

Earth. Fire. Air. Water.

Only the Avatar can master all four elements and bring balance to the world.

* * *

_Breaking news! This morning, amid a while nonbenders' protest that nearly took down the council, the three missing councilmen were discovered on Sato property - _missing_ their faces! While the Citywide Association for the Advancement of Nonbending Persons continues to press the council, the heir to the Red Monsoon triad remains safely in Beifong's custody. But for how long? When will the war between the Agni Kais and the Red Monsoons break? __And _who_ was the mysterious man in the mask?_

* * *

血

Book Two

**Blood**

Chapter Three

**Fire and Ice**

* * *

Darkness rains, the night stealing over Republic City, carrying its shroud of shadow far over Yue Bay, cloaking the city below. Snows blow in from the mountains rising high above, white flurries that cover the silent streets and abandoned alleys, shutters and windows tightly closed, doors locked, whispers of a coming triad turf war sending living spirits to hide within the safety of their homes. A lone shark rat crawls forward from a sewer and dashes across the road, its whiskers twitching rapidly, the ribbed fin high on its back slicing through the wind. The rumble of a satomobile sounds from far-off, glaring lights flooding the alley, and the shark rat hisses, opening a maw ringed with row after row of daggers tilted inwards.

The satomobile bumps, causing its driver to slow for a moment, but with a practised motion he accelerates the vehicle once more, leaving the corpse of the shark rat behind him. Something moans in the back, accompanied by the noise of bodies falling against each other as the satomobile turns sharply, but the driver merely whips one electrified kali stick back, the arc of lightning transforming groan to scream to quiet.

The vehicle drives on.

* * *

Nimble fingers tweak at the metal parts, quickly turning screws, inserting wires, assembling the small black semicircles with careful precision: An assembly line of Equalist workers, a sea of faceless masks creating these curious semicircles again and again, seated at lengthy tables stretching through the grey-brown tunnel of rock, stalactites hanging dangerously from overhead, reminding them that their worthless lives could end at any moment.

Overseeing this, his hands clasped behind his back, is Amon.

Not quite Amon.

The mask, the robe, the charisma is there.

But there's unnerving about him, muses one of the Equalists, bending over to craft another semicircle. A stillness, a silence, a touch of the inhuman.

Just a touch.

But enough.

From the far end of the tunnel comes the groan of rock scraping against rock. A hiss of cold air enters the chamber, and the Lieutenant, flanked by two Equalists, steps inside, icicles on his moustache. "I've brought the prisoner, sir." The Equalists at his sides push the bound and gagged body forward, a black bag covering the being's head.

Amon does not move. "Good. This pleases us." And a different voice, a voice that sounds almost like two-toned, an undercurrent rushing under the main timbre. But that can't be. "Bring him to us."

The Lieutenant hosts up the prisoner and puts him over his shoulder; the gagged man struggles weakly, his strength sapped away. The taps of his boots are unnaturally loud in the icy atmosphere, the quiet broken only by the clicking of metal pieces.

As always, approaching Amon makes the Lieutenant's flesh crawl as though worms had taken up residence under his skin, but at least this one is truly a nonbender, unlike that . . . _Noatak_. Fighting to keep his breathing steady, the Lieutenant carefully places the prisoner in front of the immotile Amon, ripping the bag from the man's head: His ascot betrays his high-ranking position amongst the United Forces, his pupils swallowing his irises in his fear, his pale-skinned hands shaking.

At last Amon moves, tilting his head down to gaze serenely at the man in front of him, shaking and shuddering, words forming and dying at his lips.

"Hello, Wei." The Lieutenant steps away, mindful of his leader's wordless request for space.

"How do you know my name?" the soldier of the United Forces stammers, blinking his eyes rapidly. "Where am I? Who are you? Oh . . . oh spirits help me. . . ."

"Patience. We know _everything_ about _you_, Wei." Amon chest never seems to rise or fall, as if he were carved from stone. "We require information from you, Wei."

The man inhales a shaky breath. "I thought you were dead. Amon—how could you be _alive_?"

"Are we alive?" the masked phantom answers evenly. "Perhaps you could tell us. Allow us to question you, tell us what you know, and we will let you live."

"Going to—to take away my bending?" His face is contorted in his terror, but the façade he puts up is one of bravery. "Because g-guess what? The Avatar will just g-give it back to me."

At this, Amon leans down, his spine bending in a manner that makes the Lieutenant's back hurt merely seeing it, and Wei lets out a yelp of fear. "No, human," Amon murmurs softly, tenderly. The soldier looks away, his wrists rubbed raw by the rope, but the masked phantom's fingers grasp his chin and force him to stare directly at the mask, the circle on the front reminiscent of a drop of blood. Wei screams. "We will take away something much more precious to you."

Wei closes his eyes, his nostrils flaring, the horror twisting his expression causing the Lieutenant to glance down at the floor. But the image of that pure, unadulterated terror distorting a man's face . . . "What are y-you?"

"We are Republic City's reckon_ing_." The undertone of Amon's voice creeps out for a moment, and the Lieutenant's breath shudders, although he isn't certain why: He must have misheard, for the timbre is back to normal the next word. "When is the United Forces' navy guarded least?"

"I'm not g-going to t-tell you that!" Straining against the bondage, Wei manages to fall over, his lower jaw smashing into the stone with enough strength to rattle the stalactites. "Help m-me! Someone! Anyone! H-help me!"

Amon reaches down and grasps the soldier's chin again, pulling up his entire body with the power in one hand. His tone rasps out a single command, one that the Lieutenant somehow knows is for him: "Turn around." The Lieutenant hesitates, but he turns, his veins ice. Behind him, Wei shrieks like a wounded animal. "_Tell us_."

"Anything! Late n-night—right b-before dawn—just don't k-kill m-me—spirits—spirits—"

The scream crescendos sharply to a peak and cuts off, replaced with nearly inaudible choking. The Lieutenant's blood stops, frozen, his stomach exchanged for a vat of ice. Suffocation.

Then quiet, broken only by the clicking of metal pieces and the muted murmur of a mask returned to a face.

* * *

"Furthermore, council, may I remind our audience that there is currently only one—_one—_councilman who is, indeed, a normal person, or a _nonbender _as you mutant benders put it. The other five are all benders, and one of them is even the Avatar. Tell me, why are the nonbender and the Avatar, who pledged her support to the nonbender cause, _absent_?" Announcing the statistics, the man, proudly displaying the scales of the Citywide Association for the Advancement of Nonbending Persons on his chest, holds his arms out to the congregation of influential Republic City citizens seated at the benches of City Hall, interspersed with a handful of politically-orientated minds, a few reporters, and several bored-looking students from Republic University, aimlessly tapping their pens against the desks. Tenzin glances over the council: Chenga, Hado, and Jiao listen carefully, but neither Korra nor his brother is here. "The entire council at the moment is bending-capable. And yet nonbenders comprise a full half of the people of the world, if not a majority."

While Hado fires off another angry shout of "_Inconceivable_!", Jiao, standing up from his seat at the council desk, noisily clears his throat. "That is not why you are here, _esteemed_ Wang Jin_._" His lip curls. "Scarcely three hours ago, your dear nonbenders started a protest."

"As they should," Wang Jin responds curtly, stroking his bushy brown beard and crossing his arms. "We have the right to protest, given to us by the Constitution of Republic City, as signed by _Avatar Aang_ himself." A murmur of assent trickles through the audience.

"Not so fast." Jiao places his palms on the table, spreading out his fingers. "The protests turned violent and almost broke through the ranks of our brilliant police chief, Lin Beifong." He gestures to the grey-haired woman sitting in the front row, who grimaces, a distinctive chink in her metal armour, as though a rock was hurled into it.

Hado bobs his head up and down fiercely. "Violent!" he declares, pounding on the desk. "They were violent, and that is _illegal_!"

Rubbing his temples, Tenzin raps the gavel. "Please, contain yourself, Hado. Jiao is speaking." His gaze travels to Korra's conspicuously empty seat, and he remembers what Lin told him about Korra leaving halfway through the protest because of . . . her friends. Closing his eyes, he resolves to speak with her on it later.

"We have some evidence that your little _association_ helped stoke the fires, so to speak." From the table, Jiao picks up several photographs, holding them aloft. "Our dedicated and hardworking journalists were able to take photographic evidence proving that the Citywide Association handed out signs to the protestors and encourage them, in _addition_ to keeping those at the fringe from leaving."

Wang Jin shakes his head. "The Association had nothing to do with the violence which, as the waterbender said, is illegal."

"I am the representative from the Northern Water Tribe," Hado yells in response, the buttons on his rumpled blue suit trembling, his warrior's wolftail bobbing back and forth, his fury twisting his expression, "and you will refer to me as such or face the consequences, you insolent nonbending rat viper!"

"Oh, calm down," Chenga adds, shaking her head.

His dark blue gaze rivets itself on the Earth Kingdom woman. "You dare speak out of turn, _female_?" the Water Tribesman snaps brusquely.

Tenzin smashes the gavel into the table. "Enough! Hado, please sit down, or you will be excused from this meeting."

Smirking, Wang Jin continues to stroke his beard. "You see? You benders are making a mockery of the United Republic Council. Even the Avatar agreed with the oppressed nonbenders last night!"

Ignoring the outbursts, Jiao keeps speaking: "If your involvement in the violent protests is proven, your association will be rendered illegal."

"As it should already have been!" Hado puts in shrilly. The audience breaks out into bickering, one of the university students raising his book and threatening to crash it into another's one head.

His arm sore from the constant rapping, Tenzin once more makes the motion. "Order in the council! Order in the council!"

Someone in the back yells, "Disorder! Disorder!" The room deteriorates into pandemonium, a flurry of shouting and arguing about nonbenders.

Abruptly interrupting the proceedings, the doors fly open, crashing into the walls with a thunderous boom. "I don't care what you were yelling about, but this is important!" comes the powerful voice of the Avatar. Trailed by her friends and her polar bear dog, Korra storms into the council building, airbending herself forward. Naga bounds behind her; members of the audience gasp when they see the load she carries.

"Avatar!" Hado groans. "Inconceivable! Not _another_ worthless female!"

About to argue, Korra puts her arms up defensively, but a woman Tenzin recognises as Asami Sato steps forward and points to Naga's saddle. "We found out what happened to the missing councilpeople." A hush descends on the audience.

The earthbender pokes Naga in the leg. "Down, girl." The polar bear dog licks and kneels down, revealing the contents of the saddle.

Tenzin feels his blood turn cold.

* * *

The guards outside of her cell know nothing, understand nothing, will soon be nothing. Even without the power of the moon guiding her on, she will escape. She can feel the blood in their veins, pulsing ever so slowly, unaware of its new direction.

She places her hand over the bars, reaching for the delicious, loving blood whispering of freedom in her ear. The forms of the two guards are mapped out in in branches of veins and arteries, a meshed web she will spin as like a cobra spider, trapping mite flies and feasting on their juices.

Steadily she curls her fingers, feeling the blood slow, delighting in the gasps of the shocked guards.

They have felt nothing yet, nothing of what she will do.

* * *

"But their faces—"

"Facial reconstruction surgery?"

"Like the kind Yakone had, right?"

"I'm going to be sick."

"Not on my _robe_! Urk, it'll never come out _now_."

"There are _dead_ people, and you're laughing?"

"Fake! They've got to be!"

The audience rumbles. Asami glances around the room, inhales, and continues, explaining the bodies, the shack, the everything. Korra watches as the faces of the members of the United Republic Council shift from disbelief, to horror, to fear, settling into fright, anger, hesitation, grief. Tenzin appears shaken, the gavel dropping from his fingers, his face pale. He swallows multiple times, his eyes seemingly glazed over, his lips forming the words to a prayer over and over again, the vision of his old friends lying before him, their lives mysteriously stolen away along with their faces, sending a serpent of darkness coiling through him.

Jiao is the first to break the silence. "We must find whoever is responsible." His gaze hardens with a fierce determination that reminds Korra, disconcertingly, of Tarrlok. "And we must end them."

Hado stands up from the table, bashing his fists. "If it was found on Sato property," he snarls, his moustache bristling, "then the Satos must be to blame!" He jabs a beefy finger towards her; the young woman steps back, confused, the sash about her waist trailing on the ground. Korra looks from her to the councilman, her hands balling into fists, her rage building. _No one_ can blame her friend. _No one_. "The other Sato was a criminal. You can never trust a lying, filthy female, especially not a beautiful whore like that!"

Before Korra can retort out a response, her muscles tensing, Bolin raises his arms. "Hey, hey, you can't talk like that about a girl. Okay, let's all calm down." He exhales. "We've got kind of a problem, and—"

"Not the time, bro." One glare from Mako is all it takes to shut Bolin down. Amid the panic caused by the council, Korra sees the firebender's action and logs it away, making a mental note to talk to him about that later.

Abruptly another voice is heard, cutting through the rest. Beifong puts her hands on her hips. "All right, everyone, calm _down_." Her expression is grim, her body tense, her eyebrows tilted and almost touching at the sharpened arrow-point. "The police force will work on it immediately."

For the first time since the announcement, Tenzin speaks: "You don't have enough men, Li—Chief Beifong, and I don't want to see you in danger."

Jiao nods, for once agreeing. "The Avatar hasn't had the time or ability to the restore of your full police force, and your new recruits aren't, to my knowledge, yet able to metalbend." His face falling, Bolin sheepishly taps his index fingers against each other. "We need to use your limited force to work on keeping the fragile peace in the city."

"What about the United Forces?" Asami breaks in.

Bolin snaps his fingers. "Yeah, Iroh's an awesome guy. He's confident and smart and can _fly with his hands!_" He pushes out with his arms, making a gesture as if propelling himself forward with fire. "I'm sure he could help us out!"

Tenzin inclines his head, his gaze no longer on his former fellow councilmen. "Generals Iroh and Bumi will be able to keep the peace while Chief Beifong investigates." Opening his palm, he retrieves the gavel with airbending and raps it, once.

The noise has never been so loud.

* * *

The keys jingle on their belts, grating her ears, as she pulls the two guards closer to her, the fear and not understanding in her faces feeding the fire within her heart and the ice within her heart. Her fingers move through the air as though she were conducting a symphony or toying with the strings of puppets, her marionettes spinning through the air, their pounding beats unable to redirect the flow of their blood now that she possesses it. Their eyes—one pair gold, the other sapphire—are wide in their terror and shock, and she sends a pulse through each, watching as the veins in their eyes bulge slightly and subside. Her puppets twist and twirl, the key clanging against the lock as she clumsily inserts it into first the door and then her shackles, until they fall away, leave her new and fresh and wet. Releasing her grip on the guards, she allows them to fall roughly to the ground as the door to her cell swings open, the hinge creaking barely audibly.

Freedom. She engulfs herself in it, drowns in it, dies and is reborn again in it, soft footsteps swelling on the floor. About to escape entirely, she senses the blood returning to normal in the guards behind her. They will run. They will tell.

She cannot allow that to happen.

Her fingers splay, the blood caught once more in her web.

A small smile parts her lips, her filed teeth tipped in crimson, the taste of iron on her tongue.

Her hands close.

* * *

"Korra?"

The Avatar's hand buries itself the fur of Naga's neck as she treads methodically away from City Hall, a rock sitting in her stomach, her limbs heavy, weighed down with rock and lead, not even the protective armour she wore before burdening her as greatly. Bolin and Mako are somewhere behind her, speaking in the silent language of siblings who have known each other their entire lives, a tongue of glances and movements and breaths.

Somehow, she didn't believe the faceless bodies, not entirely, not until she saw Tenzin's expression, the face of a man whose execution is already decided.

"It was supposed to be perfect," she mutters to Asami, who falls into step beside her, studying the Avatar intensely. "Save the day, get the Avatar State, kiss Mako." Korra folds her arms beneath her breasts. "Where's my happy ending?"

She feels Asami place a friendly hand on her arm. "Korra, thank you for sticking up for me back there." In surprise Korra looks up at her friend, as always a tad miffed by the height difference, but the minor annoyance is so comforting in its familiarity that she wishes Asami would hug her. "I know you didn't say anything, but I could see your expression. You were about to hit him, weren't you?"

Korra rubs her back of her neck with a hand. "I never give up on people who need me."

"Korra?" Mako has slipped his arm around her shoulders prior to her noticing his appearance by her side. "You were brave out there today." She tries to relax into his one-sided embrace, but the pressure of the evening stops her; he gently strokes her cheek, his glove warm against her skin, and he tilts her chin up for a kiss. Something within her compels Korra to back away, prying his arm from her, and she leaps onto Naga's back, wrapping herself in the polar bear dog's warmth. Mako tries to grab her boot, but she squeezes her thighs together, prompting Naga to take flight. "Korra! Come back! Where are you going?"

She doesn't know.

Away.

* * *

_Commercial break._


	9. Fire and Ice, Part Two

_And now, a word from our sponsor: At the moment, Borra and Irosami are going to be endgame. Unless someone significant happens in the reviews, these are our endgame ships._

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_Back to the show._

* * *

_Aang, I need you._

Flashes of light and darkness, back and forth.

A secret tunnel.

A sewer.

She doesn't know.

Down, down, down. Flashes and whispers, haunting her dreams, the living substance of her spirit poured in the dim amber glow.

She knows that glow. Remembers it. The rally at the Pro-bending Arena. Restoring bending. The amber veil across her vision, stopping her from seeing the truth, the world shimmering below her, above her, around her, an otherworldly tone of brown and beige and hints of gold, liquid splashing at her boots, darkness coiling in her stomach, her life flashing rapidly before her eyes, going backwards and backwards. Mako kissing her. Her bending returned. Taken away. Kidnapped by Tarrlok. More and more quickly. The date with Bolin. Learning airbending. Arriving in Republic City. More, more, more. Firebending tests, earth, water, exams that meant nothing. Beyond that. Catching Naga. Welcomed by the Order of the White Lotus. Discovering her place in the world as the Avatar. Even further. Her first memory, a blizzard, snow, white wrapping itself around her, her knees buckling, falling into the frost, crying out, burned into her mind because she knew she was going to die.

Nothingness. Darkness. Blackness. And then brightness.

A young boy of perhaps ten or twelve stands in the murky brackish pool, the water lapping at his boots, his outfit eerily similar to that of Jinora's or Ikki's, a blue stripe curving over his shaved head. Not a stripe she realises. An arrow. An airbender. Aang. "Roku," he says, his voice high-pitched, his gaze trained on something in the water, "the Water Tribe is under attack. I need to find the ocean and moon spirits."

In the pool, extending from the boy's feet outwards, is the mirage of the Fire Nation Avatar, one she recognises from the line of her past lives that stretched out before her in the Southern Water Tribe. The white-haired man bows his head. "The ocean and the moon are ancient spirits. They crossed over the Spirit World to the mortal world very near the beginning." Aang blinks. She doesn't understand why she is seeing this of all visions; it has nothing to do with Republic City, nothing to do with anything. "There is only one spirit I know of that is old enough to remember."

"Who?"

"The spirit's name is Koh, but he is very dangerous." Roku pauses briefly enough to be unnoticed. "They call him . . . the Face Stealer." Aang's eyes widen, his horrified expression bringing a pit in her stomach, but in these visions she isn't herself, can't feel the heartbeat that would racing, can't sense the ice in her veins, can't run from the fire in her centre. "When you speak with him, you must be very careful to show no emotion at all. Not even the slightest expression, or he will steal your face."

She gasps, lurching upright, her vision suddenly dark save for a patch of white on the wall. Her hands fly to her face, stroking her cheek, touching her eyes and nose and lips, making sure everything is there, nothing has been stolen. It can't be stolen—it was only a vision—a nightmare—

Something is wrapped around her, something like the Face Stealer, something like the—

"Korra! Korra, what's wrong?"

Mako. Mako is there for her. He's always there for her. His arms slip around her waist as he pulls her onto his lap, his lanky legs around her, holding her close, her shoulder blades pressing into his chest. As her eyes adjust to the dimness of the night, she makes out the window on the other side of the room. The room on Air Temple Island, the room she shares with Mako, the room that has seen more kisses and embraces than she could name. His fingers tighten around her wrists, his arms enveloping her. "What's wrong?" His breath whispers into her ear. "Korra, you're worrying me right now."

Korra turns around slightly, feeling his chin on her collarbone, his throat against the skin of her shoulder. "I had a nightmare," she mumbles. "That's all."

"You were screaming about your face." He exhales, sending warmth down into the collar of her shirt and onto her breasts. His thumb brushes her cheek as if wiping away tears. "There's nothing wrong with your face, Korra. You're beautiful."

Normally, her face would grow hot as fire, but for all of Mako's presence, she is oddly cold at the moment, gooseflesh covering her arms and legs. "It doesn't matter. I just want to go back to sleep."

He starts to speak again, but she twists her neck and covers his mouth with hers, kissing him fiercely to silence his protests. Mako's tautness relaxes immediately, and his hands dropping her wrist and running along her arms instead. She deepens the kiss, then begins to draw away, the need for sleep and to get away from the nightmarish vision pressuring her, but he lunges forward, his tongue forcibly parting her lips, invading her defences. His fingers press into her skin, his nails leaving red marks on her flesh, as he gets up to his knees, gripping her arms, and pushes her down into the mattress. One hand travelling up to pin her to the bed, the other brushing just below her breasts, he continues to kiss her, hot and wild and hungry, a tigerdillo taking the opportunity. Korra writhes under him but gives in at last, throwing her arms around him. He sneaks his hand under her shirt, touching the hard muscles on her abdomen, while she does the same, dimly enjoying the heat of his flesh where she touches him, the way his amber eyes darken with lust, the accidental bites on her lips he gives her when he can no longer control him. When he tries to reach higher, however, Korra places her hand on his through the fabric of her top, stopping him. "I don't know they do it around here, city boy," she murmurs, pushing him off of her, "but where I'm from you usually don't grab at that at three in the morning."

Mako props himself up on one elbow. "Wow. That was . . . wow." He clears his throat and winces slightly. "Korra, I was almost—never mind." When she curls back on the pillow, he hugs her from behind, pressing himself against her. Usually his need would keep her up, but not tonight.

Tonight, she needs sleep.

* * *

The early morning light filters in through the window. Pema hums as she prepares breakfast for the day: Sea prunes, her mother-in-law's favourite; it's the least Pema can do for the help Katara has put in recently with taking care of the children, specially Rohan. Out of the corner of her eye she can see her daughter and Bolin seated at the table, the fire ferret nibbling on a handful of treats scrounged from his pocket earlier, a pai sho board between them. While Jinora explains the rules, Bolin studies the board intently, but a playful grin lurks behind his apparent concentration.

"This one is called the rock. If you put it down, it can't be moved." Jinora puts the tile on the pai sho board; it clinks next to several other tiles, adorned with painted flowers. "It stops all the harmonies between it. But if it next to a flower, then it takes on that flower's abilities." Bolin nods. "Let's say you put it next to a rose, it can form a harmony with the white jade and chrysanthemum and the disharmony with a lily."

"I think I'll like that tile." He smiles cattishly; Jinora blushes, much to his surprise. "'Cause I'm an earthbender? The rock?" Bolin taps the table, the scent of the breakfast alerting him. He sniffs at the air like a polar bear dog. "What's cooking? It smells delicious!"

Pema laughs. "Thank you, Bolin. I'm making sea prunes. Would you like some?"

Scoffing, he puts his left hand on his chest. "Would I like some? Would _I_ like some?" He glances at Jinora, lowering his voice to a whisper: "I don't know. _Would_ I like him?"

"They're an acquired taste," she whispers back. Bobbing his head, Bolin opens his mouth to respond, but prior to the words leaving his lips he hears Korra's tell-tale footsteps outside. She stomps into the kitchen, a scowl on her face, her hair messy and her skirt diagonal across her hips instead of straight. Bolin guesses she's in a bad mood.

"When's breakfast?" she demands, crossing her arms and bumping the counter with her hip.

Definitely in a bad mood.

"Hey, Korra, why don't you sit down?" Bolin pats the bench next to him. "Jinora's teaching me about, uh, what's it called again?"

"Pai sho," the airbender answers cheerfully.

Bolin grins and points his thumb over his shoulder. "Yeah, that. So what do you say, come and take a look? They've got boats in this game. See this tile?" He flicks it up, trying to balance it on one finger, but it drops down, and Pabu scurries off the table after it. "Sit sit sit."

Korra shrugs and makes her way across the kitchen, her movements rigid until she slumps into her seat, putting her elbows on the table. She points one finger at the board. "What's that, and who had sea prunes?"

"We all are, right now," Pema responds, placing her stirring rod on the counter. "Bolin, would you mind getting everyone for breakfast?"

Keeping his gaze on Korra, concerned for what might have happened, Bolin cups his hands over his mouth. "_Soup's on!_" he yells loudly, causing Jinora to drop the tile just as Pabu leaps back onto the table, the first missing piece gripped between his teeth, his ears twitching and tail fluffing.

Pema raises her eyebrows and shakes her head while footsteps swell in the hall outside: Ikki and Meelo are the first to rush in, the former jumping into Bolin's lap, the latter airbending himself onto his head. "Bolin Bolin Bolin guess what I learned how to do?" Ikki says in a swift breath.

Bolin smiles and pats her head. "Oh, I don't know, Ikki. What did you learn how to do?"

She pulls out a handful of marbles. "Watch this! Bumi taught me how to do it." Holding her hands a few centimetres apart, she spins them in a circle between her palms using nothing but her bending. Bolin applauds excitedly. Meelo giggles and bites down hard on his head, causing the earthbender to grab him by the back of his orange monk uniform and engage in a tickle fight instead, one that Pabu squirms into somewhere in the middle. Laughing, he sneaks a glance over at Korra and is elated to see a small smile on her face.

Mako enters the kitchen, looking uncomfortable, and Bolin notices his brother glance at Korra and then look away. "They're waiting in the dining room," he says awkwardly, his nose wrinkling when the scent of sea prunes reaches him.

Pema beams. "Thank you, Mako. Come, come. Time for breakfast!"

* * *

Brown hands pinning its limbs and tail to the table, the shark rat hisses and squeaks pathetically as it attempts to writhe out of the grasp of its captor, its whiskers trembling, its serrated fangs snapping only at empty air. Its paw flail, its fin torn nearly in half by the desperate wrestling through the sewer water, the predator transformed to prey, the hunter to the hunted. The beast who broke the law of the sewer lifts his head, and a river of water runs up instead of down, forming and hardening into a blade of ice, guided merely by movements of the neck and shoulders. "Tonight," the beast rasps, his teeth sharp as the shark rat's, "we destroy the arrogant Agni Kais. Tonight, we show them what happens when you try to kidnap a Red Monsoon. Tonight, we bathe in the blood of our enemies." The frost dagger flies towards the shark rat, a final squeal and a last thrash of the tail proceeding the inevitable, the slicing of blade into flesh, the cracking of bony cartilage, the flesh ripping open and curling to either side, the heart pulsating before the beast's dark grey gaze. His fingers touch it, the muscle humming rapidly under the pad of his thumb, the blood promising him powers untold. The beast jerks his arm back, ripping the heart out, the shark rat's screams belonging not to this world, the stench of its emptying intestine unnoticed in the reek of blood.

A noise. Footsteps, the splash of water. The beast raises his head, his smirk unveiling his sharpened canines.

"Welcome home, daughter."

* * *

"Remember your forms, Korra. Keep yourself moving, for the element of water is one of change." Her silvery-white hair loopies caressed by a gentle breeze coming in from the bay down at the base of the cliff-side, Katara moves her hands in a careful circle, and the water rises from the pool in the ground between her and her pupil, the Avatar. She manipulates the liquid, swirling it slowly through the air. "Many years ago, a wise man told me that the water follows the energy of my body, moving as I move, and in turn we move as the waters moves." For a woman of eighty-six years, her body is surprisingly fluid, each motion careful yet wide, a wave rolling through her and guiding her arms and hips. If Korra didn't know better, she would say that Katara were made of her native element, the spirit of water itself. "Now, you try, Korra."

With a start Korra notices her hands, formed into fists of firebending, and uncurls her fingers rapidly; thinking of the so-called _wise words_ Katara has foisted on her—no, no, she has to accept them, think about them, treasure them like the key to unlocking her former bending—she closes her eyes, her arms naturally assuming her old waterbending positions, and wills the water to her, to come meet her as an old friend, to come gently to her hand, to allow itself to be bent as it always did.

But not today.

Her mouth twitches. Opening her eyes, she glares at the liquid rippling innocently in the pool. Her fingers coil again into a fist, the muscles in her shoulders bunching and stretching taut as she punches at the water, a grunt ripping out of her, expecting the rush of heat through her arm and the blaze of fire from her knuckles.

Nothing.

"This is worse than airbending." Korra leans down and braces her palms against her knees. "I'm sorry, Sifu Katara, but I can't do it."

"It's okay." Her head snaps up: Bolin is standing a few metres away, Pabu in his hands, his voice unnaturally high-pitched as he wriggles the fire ferret's paws about. "Bolin can't do metalbending either, but he's been working with Sifu Beifong every morning. Sifu Beifong says that sometimes you just need time. And some pressure and pain." Bolin puts a paw on the very confused-looking Pabu's muzzle. "But I don't like the sound of pain. Would Korra want to get some lunch in the city with Bolin?"

Katara hides a smile in her sleeve as Korra looks down at her palms. "I don't know, Bolin. I mean, the missing councilmen—uh, the found ones with the missing faces—and the council meeting today—and I promised Mako we'd finally go on a date today; it's a—"

His hands alight on hers, softly as feathers falling, the courtyard crossed in seconds, his right foot slipped accidentally into the pool. She starts to form the word _no_ once more, but something glittering in his green eyes stops her. "Please? I'm _starving_, and Pema said I wasn't allowed to bring meat on the island." His half-hearted frown morphs into a grin; she can't help but feel the shadow of a smile pass over her lips. "Pretty please with Jinora's egg cookies on top?"

"Go on, Korra." Katara waves her off. "A break from training always helps. I remember when Aang was learning earthbending. . . ." Her words trail off.

Bolin squeezes the fire ferret lightly, causing Pabu to squeak, breaking the slight silence. Korra laughs. "All right, all right, we can go for lunch. I just have to tell—"

He gasps happily and squashes her into a hug, a curl of black hair bobbing against her forehead. "Don't worry about telling Mako. I sort of told him I wanted to have lunch with you already, and he said fine."

"He said fine?" She hates how true and clear the shock is in her outburst. "That's not. . . . Never mind. We should go."

* * *

The wind races through the dusty streets, picking up discarded wrappers, blowing about ripped newspapers, winding itself about the statue of Fire Lord Zuko rising from the ground. A flame burns brightly in the metal hand, attracting newcomers and ancient denizens of the underbelly of the city alike, eager for the meagre warmth afforded by the fire. Lanky teenagers in torn pants and ragged shirts lean against the base, watching men with electrified kali sticks slung over shoulders and daggers hidden in boots cross roads while children more bone than meat lie face-down in puddles of melted snow, their cracked tongues lapping desperately at the water.

One boy sits on an empty barrel formerly full of firewine, the last dregs of the crimson liquor sucked from his fingers. Two men in ratty street clothes marked solely by orange sashes watch him intensely, one of them spinning a throwing knife menacingly.

"Is that enough, Skooch?" he growls.

Skoochy snorts and licks the final drop off of his thumb. "Yeah, sure." He draws his cap lower over his face. "Red Monsoons've been at and it lately. Since the Triple Threats got under _new management_—" Knife Spinner's nose wrinkles, showing his distaste for Zolt's replacement. "—the Shark Rat's thinkin' he can take down the Kais."

"We know that." The other man spits at the bottom of the barrel.

"Know you know," the street rat retorts. "But he ain't hirin' muscle. So I'm thinkin' something else's up. Shark Rat's not gonna attack on the full moon. It's gonna be a surprise."

Knife Spinner stops twirling the blade, catching the tip between two fingers. "Know anything else?"

The informant considers asking for more yuans, but he's already pushed the Agni Kais into providing him with firewine. Even if it was obviously made here and not imported from the Fire Nation like he wanted, it's too expensive to risk getting more. "Attack's tonight. They're gunnin' for your little leader. Shark Rat's got an itch for revenge."

"Tonight?" The two men exchange glances. Knife Spinner crosses his arms. "It's a new moon."

Skoochy shrugs. "Hey, you listen or you don't. Not my problem." With that he slides off of the barrel and sticks his hands into his pockets, walking smoothly away from them, daring them to try to kill him with a fire blast to the head or a blade to the back. As long as he provides information, no one will hurt him. Not the Agni Kais. Not the Red Monsoons. Not the Triple Threats. No one.

It's been that way for as long as he can remember, and he knows it's not going to change. He's far too indispensable.

His gaze travels towards a cardboard box perched innocently on the fractured sidewalk, a thick fissure running from the edge of the cement to the opposite wall, the bricks crumbling. In his pocket Skoochy feels around until he withdraws a leg of possum chicken, dangling it in front of the box.

Something within the box stirs, and a flap lifts up, revealing a disorientated-looking elderly man. "Whassat? Chicken?" He moans, clutching his stomach. "Gimme."

"Not so fast. What's my reward, you old gasbag?"

The man coughs pitifully. "Got some dirt on Zolt's old call girl. Hai."

Skoochy snickers. His daily information run will be easier than he thought.

* * *

Narook's is busy as expected this time of year, people from all over grateful for the chance to slurp down hot noodles in the chill of winter, the hustle and bustle of the city transported into the loud calls and clangs of hungry diners ordering meals while utensils fly into bowls of noodles, plates of fire-broiled artic hen, and pots of stewed sea prunes, smooth jazz pouring into the air from the radio. Placing the two orders of seaweed noodles on the table and smiling as Korra grabs for hers eagerly, Bolin remembers to hold the chopsticks in his right hand instead of his left, as he usually does in private. "It's pretty packed in the winter," he says, anxious to explain the delay.

Korra shrugs and clicks her chopsticks together, swallowing the noodley goodness already in her mouth. "Mm, it's just as good as I remember it." He watches her eat for a few moments, his meal forgotten, her happiness at enjoying something as simple as Southern Water Tribe food elating him as well.

"Hey, you know what else I remember?" He grins, and she raises an eyebrow.

"What?"

Recalling that he _did _buy lunch, Bolin inhales his noodles. "Remember last time we were here?"

The chopstick quivers in her hands, and she lets it fall into the bowl, picking it up as moment later. "Yeah, on that . . . date."

"That was fun, wasn't it?" He gauges her reaction nervously: Korra pokes at her noodles, seemingly distracted, and he slurps another couple strands as nonchalantly as possible, thinking of what to say. "Hey, what's wrong? You've been off lately."

She shrugs again, not an action he associates with her. "Gee, I don't know. Maybe the protests, and the stupid Association, and the fact that I'm still stuck with _airbending_." Korra jabs a noddle with a chopstick, clearly intent on spearing it, but it slides out of the way, droplets scattering on her cheeks.

"My sifu told me you promised to support the protestors." Bolin quirks an eyebrow and grins encouragingly, nudging her arm with the back of his hand. She bows her head, looking so sad and broken that he drops his chopsticks and twines his fingers around hers. "Korra?"

His friend glances up, her eyes the colour of trepidation, teetering dangerously on the edge of the pit of sorrow and fear. "I don't know. I think I did. I can't have anyone oppressing anyone else. I would hate it if I was oppressed." She hides her frown in noodles, but he notices the corners of her mouth curving down anyway. "They were just oppressing themselves, like I told that guy in the park! I'd never oppress myself." Her tone softens, her eyelids lowering, her hand drawing away from Bolin's and placed into her lap instead. He doesn't understand where the strong girl he used to know went, but he can see the old Korra lurking in her sapphire eyes, buried under the pressure of being the Avatar and the pain of . . . of what?

"Korra?" Bolin hesitates, then pushes forward. "How've you and my bro been doing? Mako's been treating you right, right?"

"Hm?" A flash of blue as she looks up. "Oh, yeah, everything's fine between us."

She seems distant, and not in a way Bolin likes. "Korra, you looked pretty upset this morning, and I _know_ Mako was acting weird. What happened?"

"Nothing." An abrupt determination in her tone and a hardening of her gaze dumbfound him. Korra slaps her palms flat against the table, lurching to her feet. "Nothing happened, nothing at all. You need to stop talking. I'm going to use the bathroom." He takes her hand before she can pull it away. Her pant leg has come up, and he narrows his eyes, noticing what appears to be a thin scar of dried blood above her ankle.

"Wait, Korra?"

Livid fury sparks in her eyes. "_What_, Bolin?"

He flicks a finger towards her feet. "What's that cut on your leg?"

"I shaved my legs, okay?" she snaps, her rage rising. "Mako told me, and I've never done it before, so I cut myself a little. I'm _sorry_ I don't know how to be a _lady_!"

His throat constricts, his heart fracturing in half at her pain, but he forces a smile onto his face instead, fighting to keep his voice level. "You can tell me anything, you know that? I'm great at keeping secrets. Okay, maybe I didn't keep the kiss secret. But that wasn't a _secret_."

To his shock she slumps back down into her seat, her voice suddenly driven to a low, urgent whisper. "I don't understand Mako." Korra glances back and forth, and Bolin straightens in his seat, gazing intently at her, aware that this might be his one chance. "He tells me that what I'm doing is fine, but then he turns around and suggests I put on _makeup_." The word sounds like poison in her mouth. "And wear a dress. And act like a girl. He said he wants to protect me. Said he can't do that if I act like a guy. 'Doesn't every girl want a prince to protect her?'" She makes a rude hand gesture. Bolin squeezes her hand in response; the taut muscles in her neck slacken to some small degree. "Said he liked me better when it was the middle of the war, and he had to come rescue me." Her eyebrows slant, a solitary sigh transforming her anger into sadness, the abrupt turn-around nearly breaking his already fragile heart into a thousand pieces. He has to keep gazing into her eyes, the sable surrounded by deep blue the only thing keeping his heart from shattering entirely and irrevocably. "He says he loves me, but he doesn't act like it."

"Sounds like _someone_ needs a breakup, _Uh_vatar." Bolin flinches, Tahno's sleazy timbre recognisable anywhere. Tearing his gaze away from Korra's eyes, the earthbender lifts his head to see the former Wolfbat leaning against the wall, one arm hanging lazily over the back of her chair.

The anger returns to Korra's face, her eyes darkening. "I didn't ask for your opinion, pretty boy. What are you doing here?"

"Helping you out." Tahno plucks a noodle from her bowl, dangling it between his long, pale fingers, and sucks it into his mouth suggestively. The earthbender notes Korra's hand twitch, and he knows she's straining not to slug the former Wolfbat across the face. "Don't want to start the abuse cycle, now do we?"

Bolin blinks. "Abuse cycle?" he echoes, his brow wrinkling in his confusion. "Mako would never—"

"Sounded like that to me." Tahno smirks. "Unless you like being done."

"What happened to that almost _human_ Tahno I saw right after Amon took your bending?" Korra retorts.

For an instant, Tahno's face reveals the same grief and desperation of that morning in the police station, his hair a mess, his sneer permanently wiped off, his entire life unravelling before his eyes. Just as quickly he reverts to the smirk. "Life happened."

Before either Korra or Bolin can react, the smooth jazz cuts off with fizzling static. The conversations around them quiet, the noise of fish sizzling in a pan unnaturally loud. "We interrupt this broadcast to inform the citizens of Republic City to stay away from the downtown area. We repeat, stay _away_ from the downtown area." Shiro Shinobi. "Thank you, and have a safe night."

The music returns, but the commotion doesn't. Korra stands abruptly. "I know where I'm going."

Tahno's stance solidifies. "I'm going as well, Uhvatar."

"You?" Bolin shakes his head. A nonbender? And a lightweight like Tahno, who can't defend himself as Asami can?

"I asked the Uhvatar, not _you_." He arches an eyebrow. "I daresay you might find my skills useful."

Korra is already halfway through the restaurant. "I don't care who's going. Just hurry up and _go_!"

Bolin and Tahno exchange glances. A split-second of thought, and the earthbender nods. "Fine, you can come. But be careful, okay?"

He makes a grabbing motion in the air that reminds Bolin of . . . chiblocking? "Never have been, never will be."

* * *

_Commercial break._


	10. Fire and Ice, Part Three

_And now, a word from our sponsor: Once again, thank you all so much for your consistent and continued support. I adore your feedback and seek to incorporate it into every chapter. For those interested, I am considering a Jinoochy subplot if the interest is high enough._

_Dialogue in italics symbolises a voice-over. Once more, in animation you'd know, but since it's not, it's important to note._

_Warning: This chapter provides some spoilers for _Scarf_._

_Terrified of getting picked on by benders? Scared of walking out of the house at night? Wetting your pants over the thought of elements moving without being touched? There's no fear here at the Ty Lee Chi-blocking Academy, the number-one-rated self-defence school in the United Republic! Act now, and receive a free pressure point poster!_

_Back to the show._

* * *

Explosions. A wall torn through, a grey and brown shack tumbling roughly through the skies and slamming into the street, the metal denting and caving in on itself, several drops of fuel dripping from an outstretched bar of iron indicative of the cause of the detonation: Firebending and fuel don't mix.

Screams cleave through the dusky sky, streams of flame reflecting orange-yellow on the dirty snow lifting itself up in tentacles of water and shards of ice, figures in scarlet riding waves of frost, glassy spears tipped with crimson and wrapped with sashes of orange, the former fragile peace under the threat of the Equalists destroyed irrevocably by the Agni Kai attempt of kidnapping the Shark Rat's daughter, the sweet fragrance of revenge lingering in the blood-scented air. Fire and ice clash in a lethal dance as five Red Monsoons bring down a roof covered in snow onto a brigade of Agni Kais, the firebenders frozen instantly, their deaths imminent.

Her thick hair drops ragged at the ends, a woman observes the goings-on from the top of a roof, the orange sash formerly about her waist ripped off in favour of going unnoticed in the carnage. "Since the birth of the triads, the Red Monsoons have been known for raids under the watchful eye of the full moon. But this—this _Shakku_—" She shakes her head. "He has taught them to use not their bloodbending but their waterbending. In the winter, deadly results. Are you copying this?"

The black-haired man kneeling next to her scribbles her thoughts carefully on the pad of paper. "Yes ma'am," he answers meekly. The woman smirks, thoughts churning behind her shadowed amber eyes.

"Come on, Wulin." She balls the sash in the palm of her right hand and tosses it up, embers arcing from the tips of her fingers, the fabric smoking as it lands in the snow, disintegrating into fine ash. The sounds of earthbending accompanied by fire bursts and water shields rotating in sync reach her ears, signalling the arrival of General Iroh's forces to try to quell the fighting. "We've done enough reconnaissance. Only a fool sits in the path of danger."

He glances at her, his green eyes twinkling with keen interest while his pen travels swiftly over the page, but she says nothing more, her footsteps silent in the ice.

Another explosion sounds somewhere behind them, the bodies of several Red Monsoons flying and crashing into walls, falling down into the barren street below. Turning back to see three or four Agni Kais attempt to pounce onto them only to be cut down by a slice of ice, the woman curls her lip, her voice cold. "They will never learn that our true enemies are not human."

* * *

Korra remembers the last time she rode into a poorer part of town on Naga with two men behind her and members of the triad in front. But this time Mako isn't here to protect this. This time, it's all on her.

A determined smirk highlighting her features, she grasps the reins tightly and squeezes her thighs together, forcing her polar bear dog on between a pair of satomobiles and over a collapsed truck, fruits spilling from the back, attacked on by packs of hungry children.

In the centre of the street, a group of Agni Kais is waiting, apparently guarding someone or something, their hands set alight the moment Naga clears the trunk, her massive paws kicking up a flurry of snow where she lands. Korra's first instinct is to sweep the snow onto them, but she recalls her lack of waterbending and instead swipes horizontally, the blade of wind knocking several of them out of the way, each prepared for Red Monsoon meddling but not for airbending. Bolin lifts his arms rapidly, bullets of earth whistling past her ears and striking the firebenders not yet down, but a few of them manage to dodge. Another whistle alerts her, this one not of bullets but of wire and rope. Korra jerks back roughly on the reins as Naga is carried forward by her own momentum, her paws now wrapped into a jumble, the polar bear dog smashing into a cracked sheet of ice, her passengers thumping onto the ground, legs trapped under Naga's bulk. Crying out in pain for her potentially broken limb, Korra strains to drag her leg out from under the white mound. Next to her, a wincing Bolin is about to create a pillar to lift her off of the ground when bursts of flame come at them, the only intelligent response to swiftly create shields of rock to stop them from charring into crisps.

And then Korra notices that Tahno is standing in front of the Agni Kais, his stance indicating his foresight to leap off of Naga's back before she took the plunge. "Well, boys," he taunts, smirking, "give it your best shot."

One of the remaining Agni Kais dashes at him from the left, the bolt of flame ripping from his right hand, headed for Tahno's head, while the second lifts her leg up high for a flaming kick. Moving fluidly as a waterbender, more serpent than man, Tahno drops to the ground and rises in time to catch the woman's ankle. Her expression is one of surprise as he spins her around, knocking her into the man and causing the fire sparking in his palm to set her hair ablaze. The two of them fall on top of each other in a manner that reminds Korra of Bolin and Hasook in the first pro-bending match she ever saw. She watches with an open-mouthed combination of awe and shock while Tahno jabs the Agni Kais' limbs easily. "Smell that? It's the stench of _losers_." The former waterbender stands and turns around, not noticing the man reach out to punch screams.

But there's no fire.

She feels Naga's weight finally lift off of her, and Bolin takes her hand gently, guiding her off of the ground. She glances into his green eyes, sensing the difference in the bending brothers' approaches: Mako pulls her up. Bolin gives her the space to stand herself, and for that she is grateful beyond words. "You okay, Korra?" he asks.

Korra rubs her leg. "Just fine. Thanks, Bolin."

He flashes a grin. "Anytime."

Korra shakes her head when Tahno approaches, brushing himself off nonchalantly. "Since when are you a chi-blocker?"

Tahno arches his eyebrows. "Since when do you ask stupid questions?" Under her constant gaze, he shrugs casually, picking some imaginary lint from his sleeve. "I had to pick up some skills to survive as a nonbender. This was one of them."

Already on Naga's back, Bolin calls down to them: "Coming, guys?" Korra scrambles onto her faithful companion, refusing to go behind the earthbender but instead grasping the reins and making to sit in his lap if she has to. He catches her gaze—his eyes widen slightly—and scoots back to make room for her in the front of the saddle. She settles down in front of him and flicks the reins.

Barking, Naga gallops forward.

From behind Bolin, Tahno yells out a command: "We need to regroup with the United Forces."

"What?" Korra responds, pulling the reins back. "Whoa, girl. What'd you say?"

"He said we should regroup with Iroh," Bolin explains, his breath warming the back of her neck. She sweeps her gaze across the street—on the other side, two men in United Forces uniforms earthbend several Agni Kai lookout guards into the ground and prepare to interrogate them—and smiles.

"They're scouts." Tahno's voice has taken on a serious, professional quality, his usual snark replaced with certainty. "The vanguard is ahead, neutralising the immediate threat, while the bulk of the force is waiting for information on their objective."

Bolin sounds shocked, his timbre unnaturally high-pitched. "How do you know so much?"

Korra can almost feel his smirk. "It's called intelligence."

"Naga, towards those men!" She directs her faithful companion to the United Forces' soldiers, whose grilling methods are apparently effective.

One of the guards, body trapped in the ground, is spilling everything: "We were s'posed to guard Asokin. You know, our main guy, up in 'ere. 'Cause we'd been told the Red Monsoons were going fer 'im, and we had to keep 'im safe, y'know?" The man is shaking his head from side to side. "Please don't hurt us, we's just followin' orders."

"Thank you for the information," the soldier replies politely. His companion stands, his mouth dropping open when he sees Korra approach.

"Avatar!" he manages, the amazement evident on his shocked face.

The other, squatting next to the imprisoned guards, rises to his feet immediately and bows to her. "Avatar Korra, how may the United Forces serve you?"

Naga growls at the member of the Agni Kai Triad; the informant looks terrified enough to wet his pants, while the second lets out a nearly comical cry of fear. "Where is General Iroh?" she asks, cutting to the point.

The soldier bows once more. "It would be an honour to take you to him. Lee, inform the vanguard immediately. I will escort the Avatar."

"Yes sir." The second soldier salutes, then lifts his arms, creating a pillar of earth under him to take him to the roof.

"This way, Avatar."

Korra presses her thighs into Naga's sides, and the polar bear dog pelts after the United Forces soldier. Bolin bumps his chest into Korra's back. "It'll be nice to see Iroh again, right? That man can fly with _fire_."

She nods, feeling the reins heavier than normal in her grip. Or perhaps that is merely her imagination, the burden of the rest of her Avatar duties settling on her. "I just hope the Avatar's right for a change."

* * *

As the snow continues to fall upon the small party on the roof of the warehouse close enough to the battle to give orders but far enough way to plan without fear of attack, General Iroh frowns, poring over the map of the area of the city, Chief Beifong on his left side, Bumi on his right. "This doesn't make sense," he mutters to himself, marking the locations of Red Monsoon attacks. "They're raiding at random zones. Who is the leader of the triad?"

"His name is Shakku." Beifong's tone is grim. "Previously, he's been quiet; the Red Monsoons have only been troublesome on the full moon, when some of their ranks can bloodbend. The Agni Kais kidnapped his daughter, Koko, but I have her in custody at the moment at police headquarters. We think the Red Monsoons must be out for revenge."

"Their movements are erratic at best," Iroh argues. "If Shakku is leading this attack, he's a poor commander. His forces will be slaughtered. I don't believe that the triad could have lasted this long under orders like this: They have to be after something bigger than mere revenge against the Agni Kais."

Bumi strokes his beard thoughtfully in a manner imitating his brother, causing Beifong to smile faintly. "Well, is this guy crazy as I am?" He throws his head back and laughs, then whips a spyglass from his inner pocket and uses it to gesture wildly at the map, nearly hitting Iroh in the face. "They're going for the big moon peach around here. These are all the spots I'd think he could be." His amber eyes widen as he watches Bumi trace circles on the city. "They don't care a shark rat's tail if they get the Kais, just the big boss who tried to get his daughter."

Beifong nods curtly. "You're absolutely right. Why didn't I see it before?"

"Ma'am, it takes a lunatic to know a lunatic." Bumi winks at her, and her smile solidifies. "So, Junior, you've got to figure out where the leader actually is—"

"—and arrest him!" Iroh finishes, his eyes sparkling with confidence, his jaw firm. "Of course. Take out the kindling, and the fire won't catch." He frowns once more as he returns to the plans. "But where _is_ the leader?"

Beifong glances up suddenly, and Iroh follows her gaze to see a scout waiting patiently at the corner of the roof. "Permission to speak, sir."

"Shoot." Bumi claps his left hand into his right before Iroh can respond with a _permission granted_.

The scout bows low. "We've received the intel, sir. And there is someone here to meet you."

Iroh raises his eyebrows. "Who?"

Beyond the roof comes a loud and shudder, the tell-tale groan of earthbending, and a familiar mountain of white lands on the rooftop. Sitting atop the massive polar bear dog, the Avatar smirks, pointing at herself with a thumb.

"Me."

* * *

"_First, the guards around the perimeter will be taken out._"

Korra goes over Iroh's orders in her head as she waits, hidden, on the roof, watching several of Iroh's forces discreetly cutting down Agni Kai Triad guards, their synced formations not something useful in a land of guerrilla warfare but effective enough to stop casualties and allow them access.

She glances at Bolin, similarly waiting, and he smiles reassuringly. He squeezes her hand gently. On her other side, Tahno flexes his fingers, touching spots on his arms, going over chi-blocking patterns. Iroh and Chief Beifong are silent, brows furrowed in mirror images of concentration.

"_Bumi will cover our flanks from Red Monsoon attack for now. When you are given the signal, you are to drop down into the warehouse and aid myself and Chief Beifong in capturing Asokin._"

A whistle from far-off. Korra grabs the raised edge of the roof and swings herself down, airbending a mostly soft landing at the base of the warehouse. Beifong follows suit, metalbending a hole in the warehouse's side. Korra immediately rushes inside, forcing the air in front of her to blow forward. Fire blazes around her, the Agni Kais prepared for the assault, but it stops before it reaches her, Iroh redirecting it back towards the members of the triads.

"_Beifong and I will locate him directly. It will be up to you and your friends to cover for us."_

Beifong slams her foot into the ground and motions through the dusty warehouse, lit up with streaks of flame that Korra extinguishes with airbending, Bolin following suit with earth. Iroh's forces pour in behind them, engaging the Agni Kais within, several Red Monsoons hanging about most disconcertingly. "There!" The police chief metalbends a hole in the floor, dropping them down to the next level into a tunnel swarming with Agni Kais, leaving the United Forces above.

"Everyone, down!" Korra yells, the other four taking immediate cover while she pushes the firebenders into each other; Beifong and Bolin glance at each other, nod, and earthbend them into the walls, their heads poking out of their new stone prisons.

"Move along!" Beifong barks, those around her shooting after her. Korra keeps to Bolin's side, quelling her urge to rush ahead. She must be patient, as Tenzin taught her.

But patience always seems to come at a price.

At the end of the tunnel, Beifong stops in front of a metal wall and cracks her knuckles while Bolin closes the tunnel behind them, stopping any Agni Kais from attacking from the rear, the boulders and rocks falling upon each other in a thunderous crash. "He's in there," she snaps. "And he's got company."

"How many?" Tahno inquires, cutting across Iroh's clear question.

"Ten or eleven. Most are on the floor. Likely unconscious." Something in her eyes glitters dangerously; they widen, then narrow, the muscles of her body tensing and coiling. "We're too late. Someone's attacking him."

"_Beifong and I will enter and capture Asokin. You will take out any guards he might have."_

Iroh frowns. The ceiling of the tunnel overhead shivers, dust sprinkling onto them. "Change of plans. Beifong and I will still capture Asokin."

Korra understands the plan instantly. "And Bolin, Tahno and I'll get whoever's attacking him." Iroh nods.

"Beifong, will you do us the honours?"

Her lip curls. "With pleasure."

The wall groans and buckles under her hands, and she tears it away from the surrounding metal, creating a hole in the centre of the wall. Beyond that, Korra can see a raven-haired firebender—Asokin, no doubt—shooting flaming burst after flaming burst towards a dark-skinned Red Monsoon drawing liquid from a water skin, the two of them locked in a deadly battle of fire and ice, unconscious or dead triad members scattered vaguely throughout the room, several of them yet on their feet and clashing.

For all of the United Forces' efforts, the Red Monsoons have broken through, the triad turf war leading to nothing but chaos and destruction, the sole way to stop the carnage to strip both leaders of their commands, the ensuing struggle bringing violence to within the triads themselves but not in a way that will spill out to the public.

And if a schism occurs, smaller triads are far, far easier to maintain in control.

Iroh and Beifong waste no time, their entrances marked by the hiss of metal cords snaking through the air and a burst of fire aimed at Asokin, who notes them first, dives to the floor, and generates a bolt of lightning at Beifong. While the cords wrap themselves around his ankles, Iroh sweeps his arm out, catching the lightning on his fingertip, and holds it, his mind racing for a place to redirect it. The metal safe-room will result merely in everyone within being shocked. At Asokin? Always capture one's enemies alive.

But he can't hold it for long.

* * *

Tahno breaks away from the rest of the group, dashing towards the clashing Agni Kais and Red Monsoons, his chi-blocking making quick work of them. His smirk drawing fire away from the main team by teasingly goading the lower benders into attacking him stupidly instead, he strips them of their bending. The first waterbender pelts towards him, icebending a spear, but he merely ducks, and the spear cracks the firebender behind him on the skull, effectively knocking him out. Tahno sweeps the waterbender's legs out from under him and pushes him into another Red Monsoon, who falls over and smacks his head on the floor, both of them unable to bend once the nonbender has leaned over them for an instant. Heart racing, Tahno dodges a fire burst by sliding to the left, still leaning over, and pushes himself off of the ground to drop-kick the Agni Kai, pressing his right foot into the woman's sternum, and prods her arms and legs in rapid fashion, finishing with a palm to her forehead.

What he lacks in strength, he makes up for in speed.

And, of course—he flips his hair tauntingly at the remaining benders—_style_.

* * *

Lightning streaks through the room. Blinking from the disorientation caused by the abrupt white light, Korra shakes her head to clear it and raises her hands, intent on using suction to bring the Red Monsoon to her. But a water whip is summoned from his water skin. It snaps at her, transforming into ice at the last moment. She punches up to stop it, and the whip breaks on her fist painfully, the fragments burying themselves into her skin, forced inside by waterbending. Her blood roars in her ears, the pain of the ice digging into her flesh almost too great for her to handle.

Behind her, panicking at the sight of blood dripping down her arm, Bolin suddenly realises that he is . . . useless. There's no earth here, only metal, and he _can't_ metalbend. His frustration at the bending block rising, he glances back at the open hole in the tunnel, a light bulb going off in his head. Waving his left hand, he calls the earth from it into the room and directs the boulders towards the waterbender, shattering them into oh so many bullets. The Red Monsoon blocks them with a curtain of ice that fractures and breaks, but he grasps the falling pieces and casts them at Bolin. The shards catch at his clothing, and he feels himself being pushed rapidly backwards.

Impact. His shoulder blades and spine scream in pain when they smash into the metal wall, his head hitting it half a second afterwards, his vision vanished to black.

* * *

Lin drags the metal cords back into her wrist, sending those in her left wrists to tie about his wrists and keep Asokin from firebending. As the snacks streak towards him, he sneers, and she sees the blue sparks at his fingers seconds prior to contact, the lightning racing through the cord and shocking her.

She falls, the metal cords still wrapped about the now-helpless Asokin, pain thrashing through her form.

She remembers Amon's hands on her face and chest, her bending stripped away from her.

Not this time.

This time, _she can bend_.

Her seismic sense spreads outwards through the metal, detailing two people above them, attempting to break through to them, help in the form of Iroh's reinforcements struggling towards them but unable to metalbend.

Lin lifts her head to stare at the ceiling as the last of the electricity sparks through her, and she opens her palms wide, the ceiling shuddering, the grains of earth within trembling as they listen to her; she pours her chi into her stomach, igniting it in a furnace, imagining herself getting beaten and purified as earthen ore to metal, becoming the metal, bending the metal.

The metal rips in half.

The lightning finishes what it started, paralysing her muscles, sending her toppling to the ground, her chin against the metal, her breath a prayer of thanks.

* * *

The lightning continues to course through Iroh's body, growing stronger, threatening to overpower him. In truth, it has been less than a second, but to him, it has been eternity: He has never fought, like this, in a place where he could not redirect for fear of injuring his allies.

The thought is terror to him.

And then the ceiling opens above, casting a light on him, the spirits decrying that it is not yet his time to die.

Immediately he points a solitary finger towards, and the energy leaves him, pouring from his fingertip into the air, arching towards in a flash of blue light, beautiful yet deadly, the cold-blooded killer, the perfect combination of fire and ice.

As it drains out of him, Iroh stumbles, but someone catches him, the determination in her green eyes causing his exclamation to die at his lips.

Her long black hair flawless even in the wake of the batte raging around them, Asami Sato smiles. "You can thank me later, General."

"Miss Sato—"

"No need to call me 'Miss'." She drops his wrist and turns around, surveying the scene, her gaze alighting on Asokin. "My name works wonders."

* * *

"_Avatar Korra, my life is in your hands. I entrust it you, and I know that you will not fail me."_

Her breathing sharp, Korra punches air with her other hand towards the Red Monsoon, but he smirks and makes a downwards motion with one arm; the ice shards in her fist bite deeper, strain against her muscle, cause her to be forced to the ground, kneeling painfully, almost like a form of bloodbending. Her left hand still free, she tries to send a jet of air from her palm towards again. The waterbender sidesteps it and closes his palm, sending the shards deeper yet. The pain in her arm threatens to consume her whole.

Her blood roaring in her ears is the only thing she can hear, the rest of her frozen from the agony tearing up her flesh and coursing into her heart, travelling up and down her spine, the bone nearly breaking under the pressure of the ice. Black eats away at the corners of her vision, every fibre of her being shrieking with the urge to leave, to get away, no matter the consequences, no matter anything but _flee flee flee_, her heartbeat erratic, her eyes wide yet unseeing.

The pain calls forth something within her, something dark and silver and dangerous. Her vision flickers, her body shivering from the power of the being awoken within her, a need to survive raging through her, igniting fires, shattering earth, flooding water.

"_Korra!_"

She knows that voice. Mako. Why is he—how is he—

The power. The Avatar Spirit, reaching into every part of her, controlling her like a puppet. She has been thrown into the sea, swimming in it, drowning in it, the flood to strong, her will slipping away down under the dark waves that crash into her, fill her mouth and lungs and everything with the water of power, draining away whatever makes her _her_, replacing it with the Avatar Spirit.

_No, no, no, not with them in the room, not with them in the room, not with them in the—_

And then she is no longer Korra.

Her eyelids lift, the blue in her eyes gone to silver-white.

She is the Avatar.

* * *

Skoochy's warning plays over again in this mind: "_It's gonna be bad. What I hear, the Shark Rat's thinkin' of killin', and he don't like mercy. Don't go if you wanna keep your skin._"

Mako frowned, noting the location Skoochy directed him to, the informant revealing her location. "_I love her, Skooch. I don't care. I have to protect her._"

But he's too late.

They should never have gone without him.

He was supposed to _protect her_.

He sees her rise up, blood trickling down her arm, her eyes glowing, and he knows that he can't do anything now. Instead of protecting her, he can do nothing but watch as the Avatar State rips her apart.

Gusts of wind begin to blow, buffeting him, but Mako lifts his hand to his forehead, shielding his face. Her hair is thrown about, her palms and feet emitting jets of fire, ice exiting from wounds on her arm and flinging themselves at a waterbender in front of her. But he can't think about anyone else now.

_He has to protect her._

"_Korra!_" Mako yells, begging for her to recognise him, needing to help her, to save her. The other people in the room drop to the ground, blown over by her airbending, but he approaches her, dangerously close to the fire. She will never hurt him. Not her. "Korra, stop! Korra, I love you! Listen to me!" Korra throws her head back and breathes scarlet flame towards the ceiling. Running out of options, he grasps his scarf, his fingers curling around the fabric, the last thing he has of his father, and tears it from his neck. "_Korra!_" The wind sends it fluttering away from him, almost wrenched out of his grip. "_Korra, please_!" Trembling, shaking like a leaf in the wind, Mako manages to wrap the scarf around her foot, his entire world focused on her boot.

He has never felt so scared as he does now, on the verge of losing her to herself.

"Korra," he breathes, the word like a prayer to the being taking over her body, and he tries to pull her down.

Her head snaps, and Mako finds himself staring into the eyes not of his Korra but of a monster unknown to him, something so inhuman he cannot fathom it at all.

And then a shockwave of airbending slams into his stomach, the pain so fierce and strong he wonders if he is still alive. He can feel nothing, nothing at all, until agony sears across his back. And then he _truly_ feels nothing but the scream in his throat, silenced.

* * *

His scream.

She has to fight it, has to swim up to the surface, has to breathe. She needs air. She needs _air_.

Her movements are frantic, treading the dark water, paddling upwards on an impossibly long swim.

It's too far.

She will never make it, never see the light of day, never breathe again.

She drowns.

"Korra."

A soft sound, a whisper, a murmur on the gentle breeze.

Arms around her, pushing her up, swimming for her as she cannot do herself, until she breaks through the surface.

She breathes, and her vision fades in, her world taken up by glistening green eyes.

"Korra?"

She closes her eyes and lets herself fall.

* * *

Written by

**Flutflutflyer**

Directed by

**Flutflutflyer**


	11. Broken Ties, Part One

Earth. Fire. Air. Water.

Only the Avatar can master all four elements and bring balance to the world.

* * *

_Agni Kai leader Asokin was captured by the United Forces after an unsuccessful attack by self-proclaimed greatest bloodbender in the world, Shakku of the Red Monsoons. In split-second timing Korra unleashed the Avatar State, airbending her boyfriend Mako into the wall. While Koko has returned to her father, she wields a power that's going to show up in your nightmares tonight, folks: Bloodbending without the full moon. How? Why? Stay tuned, folks, because in this game, blood is thicker than water._

* * *

血

Book Two

**Blood**

Chapter Four

**Broken Ties**

* * *

Quiet splashes. Darkness. Somewhere, a flute plays, the tunes trembling, out of tune, fear stolen in the heart of whoever is playing it. The stench of rotting sewage and decaying corpses swells under the fragrance of cooking meat and ceremonial herbs, incenses set ablaze at the behest of a mystic, a guru, a man who claims to hear the spirits yet hears nothing but the jingle of gullible coin in his pocket and the rustle of ill-gotten yuans traded for lies. Shadows flutter across the brackish water languishing at the bottom of the sewer, lapping at the metal sides marked with various symbols, most depicting a stylised shark rat. The shadows never seemingly touch the water, their entire purpose merely to float, the liquid parting below their wraithlike robes.

A single torch glows in a ghostly hand, casting a sickly yellow light upon the cyan surroundings, the dark-skinned phantoms gliding, at last, to pause near a stone archway amid the sewers, the waves under their feet reflected in bluish green upon the ceiling, moving stripes waving like the northern lights. The torchbearer lifts a fist and taps roughly on the ice door leading inside.

Within an instant, it melts, the fresh water immediately mingling with the dirty brown of the sewage.

The wraith floats inside, clawed hands removing the heavy red hood to reveal a mortal man, his grey eyes reflecting the water spilling over the inner chamber, rivulets of ice running through it and merging in a glassy stem that unfolds into a great ice flower, the petals intricately carved and curling in on themselves, lovely and cold and unmistakably cruel, the edges razor-ship and prepared to slice into any who dare touch the wild beauty. Seated in the centre of this throne is a little girl of perhaps ten, her eyes closed, her face carrying an expression more peaceful and serene than thought imaginable.

The man swallows visibly, the lump in his throat bobbing up and down, awed at the power of her bending: To be able to keep all of the ice frozen in such delicate patterns requires great skill indeed, and it is almost unfair for the strength to reside in the body of such a girl.

"Koko," the man calls, his voice muted, the sounds stolen by the ice. "Your father has returned. Koko, the creature from the Agni Kais has been captured. For you." The girl does not reply to this news of her kidnapper's kidnapping. "Not by us, you understand, but by the police."

His companion walks in hesitantly behind him. "The cops won't punish him," he admits, "but we will get him back, and _we_ will punish him." He smiles, gazing at the ice throne, admiring the girl's abilities.

Still the girl says nothing.

The torchbearer stirs uneasily, the room beginning to chill him through to his bones. "Shakku requests your presence in his chambers immediately. He wishes to sacrifice a shark rat to the spirits in exchange for allowing him to escape victoriously last night."

At last the girl opens her eyes, wide and innocent and blue as robinjay eggs. Her unspoken question hovers in the air, prompting the second man to answer hastily: "He escaped from the Avatar herself, the chief of police, _and_ the General of the United Forces! Yes, a few of his men died—" The torchbearer stiffens and steps backwards, feeling the sudden coldness of the water. "—but he got out alive, see? The spirits listened to the sacrifice."

Her lips curve into a smile, one that sends a chill down the torchbearer's spine.

Fluidly the girl slides from the icy flower and slips into the icy water. Behind her, the throne descends like a toppled city, sinking into the water from which it sprang.

* * *

"Is she going to be okay?"

"My mother did all she could. Korra is going to be fine."

"Are you sure? Are you absolutely one-hundred-percent certain, no take-backs, no nothing?"

"Korra is going to be _fine_, Bolin. Please, calm down."

The voices drift across her mind, confusing her, her thoughts clouded, foggy, slow. Steadily she becomes aware of her own surroundings: Warmth, softness, what feels like a blanket over her, a pillow under her head. Her hair is down, her boots off. The scent of breakfast—rice—causes her to groggily lift her eyelids. Her vision is blurred at first, but she sees patterns of light, orange and green and white among them. It solidifies: A red and orange robe, one she recognises, one she hoped to see. Beyond that, the hazy outline of a window.

"Aang?"

"_Korra_!"

Powerful arms scoop her up in a tight embrace. Abruptly her head is nearly split in half with a pulse of pain that ricochets through it. Leaning over her, Bolin—she'd know that voice from anywhere—hugs her, pressing her face against his chest, and she can see the veins in his arms, the muscles standing out as they usually do. As much as she appreciates Bolin's company, she feels a strange twinge of disappointment that Mako isn't here; last time she awoke by herself in her room, Mako was the one holding her hand, cradling it like his touch was the only tether tying her to this world. But he doesn't appear to be here now. A warm bundle squeaks in Bolin's shirt and moves against Korra, scrabbling up his chest and leaping out to land on Korra's shoulder, Pabu's fluffy tail brushing against her nose and making her sneeze. As her headache fades, she pushes him away gently, lurching up into a sitting position and reaching up to rub her temples. His green eyes are filled with concern and . . . no, no, it can't be that. It's friendship. Yes, friendship. "Hey Bolin," she manages, hiding her disappointment for his sake.

"Hey Korra." Bolin settles back on the edge of her bed, tapping his index fingers against each other. "How are you doing, tough girl?"

She tries a laugh, pulling the blanket off of her, a shiver racing down her spine as though from a nightmare. "Toughing it out, I guess." Her gaze shifts to the airbending master standing next to the bed. Not Aang, but Tenzin.

"Are you all right, Korra?" He makes to stroke his beard but seems to decide against it, placing his hand on the pillow instead. "Do you remember what happened?"

Korra blinks, noticing the hair holders lying next to her head and snatching them up. Sitting up straight, she begins to fix her hair, wishing she had a mirror but resolving to deal with the quick fix-it she does. "I feel fine." Other than the lingering headache, she doesn't feel sore or achy anywhere except for the tiniest thread of pain through her right arm. "What do you mean, what happened? Last thing I remember was being at Narook's with Bolin." She glances at him, whose eyebrows are slanted downwards, her own reflection visible in the emerald liquid of his eyes, and it rushes back to her in an instant. Agni Kais. Red Monsoons. The plan. The warehouse. The tunnel. Tahno, Iroh, Beifong. The ice in her arm. The waterbender. Mako. The Avatar State.

Green.

She gasps loudly, her hand fluttering to her temple. "I went—and the Avatar State—and you—and Mako—and _Mako_—" The air slice into his stomach. She can remember the motion, her arm swiping diagonally, the jet of wind razor-sharp. And Mako . . . slammed into a wall. . . . Korra leaps up from the bed, throwing her arms out for balance, and Bolin catches her wrist, helping her firm her stance. Desperation on her face, she turns her head rapidly between Bolin and Tenzin. "Is he okay?" Her entire world is concentrated on the thought of him brokenly lying on a hospital bed somewhere. Or worse. "_Where is he?_"

"Hey." Bolin blinks and puts his hands on his hips. Pabu scurries down Korra's arm to jump onto the earthbender's shoulder and onto his head, nestling into the black hair. "Are you telling me I wouldn't be the first one at my big bro's side if something happened to him?" She frowns. "Trust me, he's okay."

"He's perfectly fine, Korra," Tenzin answers immediately. His eyebrows fly so far up his face that they would have disappeared had he had hair. "Korra, calm down. No one was hurt. Mako is in the guest room, recovering from his injuries."

Her breath whistles through her teeth. "His injuries?"

Bolin lifts his hands and grins reassuringly. "He didn't break anything or anything. Katara patched him up. He just had a couple bad cuts is all." He reaches up to scratch Pabu behind the ears. "Mako's okay."

The relief that channels through her almost makes her fall over, her legs no longer able to support her, but Korra forces herself to stand properly, inhaling. She touches her hair ornaments to ensure they're in place, then exhales. "I want to see him."

Tenzin nods, his features tightening as his voice lowers to a grave tone. "Korra, I need to talk to you about your Avatar State later. Lin told me about your lack of mastery."

The memory of being unable to fight the power washing through her is bitterness on her tongue. Ashamed, Korra looks away. "I know I failed. I thought I could control it." Abruptly she notices that Bolin is gazing at her with the most curious expression on his face, an odd expression, a mixture of awe and that _one_ look that has to be friendship. Definitely friendship. "Why are you staring at me like that?"

He cringes, hurt, his irises liquid. "Sorry, I was just—you don't remember what happened after you went Avatar State, do you?"

"What do you mean?" She narrows her eyes and crosses her arms, her eyes hardening into ice. "Of course I remember! I remember slamming Mako into a wall. I need to make sure my _boyfriend_ is okay!"

Korra immediately regrets her choice of language, the pain on Bolin's face nearly shattering her heart in face, his spirit torn open and raw, already bleeding on the ground, and she just kicked him when he was down. "Bolin, I'm sorry, I didn't mean—"

Bolin shakes his head and walks backwards, his lower lip quivering, grasping Pabu off of his head and cradling the fire ferret like a child. "It's okay," he says hollowly, gaze trained on Pabu's twitching nose. "Don't worry about me. Just go check upon him. Go."

A hand on her shoulder. Tenzin clears his throat, clearly awkward in the situation. "Korra, come. We have many things to discuss." She hesitates, and his grip tightens. "And I'm afraid I have to report some bad news. Asokin has been captured, but Shakku managed to escape . . . as did his daughter."

* * *

The racetrack behind the Sato mansion stretches over the expanse of green, the grey road winding never-endingly about the rolling hills, wildflowers blooming here and there on the Sato grounds, a mixture of red, blue, and gold with sprinklings of white and violet interspersed amongst them. Out of nowhere the primal roar of a satomobile. As the Eel Hound eats up the distance in record time, the racing animal painted on the side an accurate illustration of its monster speed, Asami accelerates it even further, daring to take it past the limit. She feels the pedal begin to resist her, glances at her speed marker through the green tint of her goggles, and floors it. The satomobile surges forward, taking her with it, the wind lifting her hair back like a banner proclaiming her joy. With a pang of disappointment Asami realises that she is nearly at the end of the track; considering trying another time around to check the Eel Hound's stamina as well—something Bolin wanted to do last time but couldn't—she calls off the bets when she sees the messenger waiting for her by the stands.

Moving down through the gears, she applies the brake and pulls up next to him, sweeping the helmet from her head and allowing her full mane of hair to fall upon her shoulders. A name finds itself in her mind: Chen. "M-morning Miss S-sato," he stutters, holding a telegram in a shaking hand. "F-for you."

Raising an eyebrow, Asami accepts the telegram gratefully and uncurls it, a smile stealing across her face, but then she becomes sombre. "Chen, would you mind responding for me?"

"Of c-course. W-what would y-you like me t-to s-send?"

Asami folds the telegram and catches it between her index and middle fingers. "'As much as I would like to accept this dinner invitation, Iroh, I'm going to Air Temple Island tonight to visit my friend.'" She remembers carrying Korra back from the safe-room, combining her strength with Bolin's. Raising her head, the heiress smoothes the front of her racing outfit. "'But I'll take you up on the offer tomorrow night.'"

* * *

The normally open window has been tightly closed, though an underscore of waves from Yue Bay still travels through it. "No, shush, let me care take of that for you, you poor dear." Lifting the empty cup of tea and placing it onto her tray, Pema clucks her tongue as she returns to fluffing up the white pillow. Lying on the bed and fiddling , Mako smiles gratefully at the air acolyte busily fussing over him like a mother possum hen. She puts another plate of sweets onto the bed beside him, the steam rising tantalisingly from the golden-brown pastry, the red whip of cream and jelly light and springy on the top. "Would you like a fruit pie?"

"Thank you," he offers, a smile on his face.

Seeing the scene unfolding before her, Korra crosses her arms, walking into the room—one of the guest rooms, she knows. As much as she wanted to see him, actually _seeing_ him is a different matter; she hates how much he is enjoying the attention from Pema. For some reason it disgusts her, but she reminds herself that she loves him.

And she threw him into a wall.

With airbending.

The shame roils in her stomach; the air in the room feels unbearably cold, frosting over her skin its icy chill. Desperate to move, Korra barges in between Pema and Mako, his amber eyes widening when he notices her presence at last. Her hip bumps against the bed, and the plate holding the fruit pie slips off. Swinging her arm, Korra tries to use earthbending to return it, but she can't, and it shatters on the ground, loud enough to cause her to wince. "Sorry about that, Pema," she stammers, her movements sluggish and uncoordinated. Without pausing to help pick up the broken pieces, she spins around and glances at Mako, expecting a wave or a hello or a hug from her boyfriend.

Her heart nearly stops when she sees his expression, his eyes not wide from surprise or happiness but from . . . _fear_.

Mako pushes himself backwards on the bed, the blanket and sheets scrunching as he scrambles away from her, pure terror contorting his features, his breaths abruptly rapid and shallow, his chest rising and falling quickly enough to be visible.

Pema's hand flies to her mouth. "Mako, what's going on? Korra?"

"Pema, can you leave me and Mako alone for a few minutes?" She fights to keep her voice level.

"I don't know if that's a good . . ." Her words trail off when Korra looks at her, her blank gaze apparently filled with the grief of what may yet be, and the air acolyte quits the room in a hurry, lifting her skirt-like robe slightly as she leaves. Korra shifts towards Mako again, her right boot brushing against a shard of pottery; it cracks under the weight of her body.

Her skin clammy, she stares at the mattress, examining the pattern of shadow upon it, then the pillow, her vision travelling steadily towards him but just dropping short. The unadulterated fear on his face. . . .

Her fault.

She knows it's her fault, and that makes it all the worse. Out of nowhere, keeping her gaze riveted to the bed, Korra wishes she still had earthbending, if only so that she could force the earth to swallow her whole and hide there forever so that she never has to face Mako again.

But she forces herself to lift her head to look at him.

He has pressed himself against the headboard, his arms raised defensively in front, readying himself to be _attacked_. Like she were _Amon_.

"Mako?" If she could she would rip her voice out and replace it with one not half so wavering and afraid. "Mako, I'm not going to hurt you."

His hand reflexively touches his stomach, where a small bulge can be seen under his shirt, clearly a bandage of some sort. "Last time you did that—that _thing_—with the glowing eyes—" She watches him struggle to keep himself calm, inhaling and exhaling quickly but not as quickly as before. "You airbent me into a wall!" Mako takes a breath. "I don't understand. Can't you even control yourself?"

Korra looks away, wondering what to tell him. "I don't know," she admits. "I . . . I thought I could."

He narrows his eyes. "You _thought_ you could control a power like that?" Smoothing the blanket, Mako sits up. "I guess you're not as strong as I thought you were."

"Excuse me?" It's her turn to narrow her eyes, the line of her mouth tightening, her eyebrows forming a _V_. "I'm not strong?" She angrily points a finger at him, her other hand on her hip. "How about _you_ try to control the most powerful force in the entire universe? 'Cause, guess what, that's what the Avatar is."

"I just need you to promise me you're never going to do something like that," Mako says, interrupting her, cutting across her words as if they didn't matter to him at all.

"Something like that?" she echoes. A beast of rage awakens in her chest, snarling and hissing at the thought of being forced to cast away everyone that makes her an Avatar forever. "So you're saying I should just drop my Avatar duties?"

Mako pushes himself off of the bed, inspiring abruptly, the crackle of broken pottery telling her what he stepped on. His eyes a molten gold in the morning light, he touches her cheek with a careful hand, brushing her hair from her face. His other arm slides about her protectively, like she were a fragile doll in dire need of cradling. "Korra, I love you. If you love me, you'll listen to me for once."

Korra recoils involuntarily, jerking away from him. "_If I love you_?" The beast in her chest rears, claws sharpening to slash into him. "_I_'ve loved you since I first saw you with that hat trick! But sometimes I don't know if you love me back." She gestures at herself, and he frowns. "

"Korra, how could I not love you?" Mako shakes his head and laughs, causing the beast in her chest to growl ferociously. How dare he _laugh_? "You're my sun and stars."

The phrase makes her hesitate for a moment, but then her rage returns. "Real poetic. Been reading Jinora's romance novels, huh? Going to ride a dragon into a volcano? Why do you even love me?"

Mako ogles at her. "What are you talking about, Korra?"

"Go on. Why do you love me?" Korra raises her eyebrows angrily. "Give me one reason."

He blinks at her. "You're the one who should be apologising to me!" he retorts. "You smashed me into a _wall_, for crying out loud!"

Her hands ball into fists; she raises her voice without meaning to. "You answer me, right now!" Korra glares at him, daring him to try to switch the topic a second time or shift the blame to her. "Name one thing you love about me."

His frown deepens; she can see his mind racing behind his narrowed eyes. "You're you. Isn't that enough?"

"I mean a real reason, _Ma_-ko."

"You're beautiful," Mako starts. "And you could be even more beautiful if you dressed like a woman. You're loyal, selfless—"

Korra lifts her hand, stopping him. "Yeah, you said that last time. Don't you have any other adjectives memorised? Do you even know what I do outside of kissing you?"

"Of course I do. Pro-bending." He smiles smugly.

"Pro-bending?" she reiterates. "That's the only thing you can think of?"

"Training. Bending." He glances around for inspiration, his gaze alighting on her boots. Korra moves backwards, cracking another shard of pottery under her foot. "Naga?"

A curiously icy chill settles into her, an epiphany beginning to grow, one that she doesn't want to dawn on her but that will. "You're throwing out random things now. You don't know anything about me do you?" The beast in her chest rears again, and a flicker of silver at the bottom of her vision chimes a warning bell in her mind, but she ignores it. "You know what? You're like the '_brave_' hero who loves rescuing the princess more than the princess herself!"

Confusion descends on him. "What are you trying to say?"

"That you don't love me, just the idea of me." The fire in her has died, transformed into ice. No, not even that. She can't bend, can she? All she has left is air. Emptiness. A handful of dust. "You know what someone told me once? That I'm the smartest, funniest, toughest, buffest, talentedest, incrediblest girl in the world!"

"Don't bring my brother into this. You broke his heart into little pieces. Or did you forget that?"

Korra gasps. "_I_ broke _his_ heart? What about Asami?"

His timbre betrays how perplexed he is. "What about her?"

It takes all of her will and self-restraint to not slap him across the face. "You dated her for months and then turned around and start dating me! How many times did you call _her_ your sun and stars? How many times did you tell _her_ that you love her before you dumped her and went for me?" She suddenly feels suffocated, closed in, cornered by shadows on every side, her worst nightmare coming true, the man of her dreams turning out to be just a man after all.

Mako's mouth drops open; he stares at her incredulously. "Korra, I love you."

"No you don't." Tears. Korra feels behind her eyes. She can't cry. Not here, not now, not in front of Mako, not in the suffocation, not at her lowest point. She can't. She won't.

She has to.

The door calls to her; her pounding pulse begs her to run far away and never come back, and she starts towards it, the final pottery piece snapping into a thousand shards at the same time as her heart.

He tries to grab her as she flees, but she wrenches out of his grip and runs. "Korra! Stop running away from your problems!"

Running away from her problems?

So he admits it.

He _is_ a problem.

* * *

_Commercial break._


	12. Broken Ties, Part Two

_And now, a word from our sponsor: A Jinoochy subplot is confirmed. Once again, thank you for every lick of continued support, from review to favourite to alert. Love you guys with all my heart! And magic anons, keep on doing your magic. __A beta reader is still desperately needed for this - I'm too squeamish to edit my own work. It's like if I were married and my wife were having a baby; I'm way too squeamish to watch my baby be born. Anyone want to be the helpful doctor? Anyone?_

_Tune it to A Taste of Republic City with Tahno every day at seven if you'd like to learn how a real pro cooks. Today, we'll be sampling Little Bird Brand Egg Cookies, cookies so delicious you'll be walking on air! A Taste of Republic City. It's one of those things you've got Tahno._

_Back to the show._

* * *

The sun is already nearly at its zenith, casting its bright light upon the sparkling waters of Yue Bay. Rising up from the choppy waves is Air Temple Island, the highest temple from which it bares its name spiralling almost into the clouds themselves, a sky bison bellowing as it soars through the skies, its six legs splayed slightly, racing on an invisible staircase in the skies. Somewhat roughly it lands on the courtyard, shaking itself off as Tenzin airbends himself from Oogi's head. Rubbing the sky bison's nose, he asks, "Can you get to the stables yourself, Oogi? I know Lin's house isn't the bison-friendliest place to land." The sky bison snorts at him, blowing his robes back slightly, and turns to shuffle off awkwardly. Tenzin smiles; after so many years together, his animal guide knows his tongue. Gazing back at Republic City, he grimaces. "The Association is growing bolder," he murmurs to himself, desperately keeping his thoughts away from the true issue at hand: Lin's revelation on the status of the missing-face investigation, namely that the hideout on Sato grounds revealed nothing else and that the force as a whole has been unable to find any trace of what could have happened. As he crosses the courtyard, Tenzin reflects that he still needs to speak to Korra, the matter of her control over the Avatar State growing more urgent by the day: What he thought was full control over the Avatar State proved to be only control over energybending.

On the other side of the island, the door to the stables—originally meant for sky bison but since modified to fit polar bear dogs as well—is ajar. Faint strains of conversation whisper out into the air. "I don't know why Mako kicked her out either," Bolin is saying into the telephone receiver, fiddling with a metal rod and leaning against Naga. Her hot polar bear dog breath warms his face, her heavy head on one shoulder, Pabu snoozing gently on the other. "She's warm and soft and gentle. Okay, she snores a little, but who doesn't?" The earthbender reaches up to scratch Naga's ear; he hears her tail thumping loudly behind her.

Asami's voice answers through the receiver: "Korra must miss her. She probably slept with Naga since she was young, growing up in the Southern Water Tribe." A laugh. "As the Avatar, she wouldn't have had many friends."

Absentmindedly Bolin plays with the curly wire. "You sound like you're speaking from experience. Which would be sad."

"I was 'the Sato daughter' growing up, Bo." She pauses. "I'm glad I have friends now."

"Yep! Bet you never knew what you missing. We're going to have to do all the best things, birthday parties and surprise parties and just party parties." He glances at the metal rod in his lap. "I was really worried about Korra back there. When her eyes started glowing . . ."

Asami's tone grows quiet. "Did you tell her you were the one to help her from the Avatar State?"

Bolin inhales, rapidly thinking of an emergency topic change. "You know, Sifu Beifong's been trying to teach me how to metalbend, but it hasn't been coming for me." He grasps the rod and attempts to recall his sifu's lectures. "She was telling me to imagine myself turning into metal. Not literally me turning into metal. More like the dirt in the earth turning into metal."

"Bolin, I can hear you sweating." He focuses on the metal rod, but it refuses to budge, no matter how much he concentrates; it's like he was never cut out for metalbending. "You still love her. I know what that's like, loving someone you're not allowed to love."

Blinking, he listens carefully to her voice, but Asami seems strangely happy, even though she's speaking about Mako of all people; he can imagine her face, her green eyes twinkling as brightly as his, smiling faintly, the thought of her former boyfriend bringing a bittersweet joy to her. Naga barks and licks the back of his head, sticking the hair up spikily. "Hey, you okay, Asami?"

"Of course I am, Bolin. Don't worry about me." Bolin sits up, grasping the receiver more tightly in his left hand, sensing something vital on the horizon. "In fact, I think I'm over him."

He breaks out into a wide grin, dropping the receiver as he stops to applaud her wildly. As soon as he realises what he's done, he lunges for the receiver and snaps it up into his grip again. "That's fantastic! You're fantastic!"

Asami laughs. "Thank you, Bo. You know how to make a girl blush."

"Yeah, now if only I could make Korra blush. . . ." Bolin shrugs. From nowhere, he hears rapid footsteps outside, approaching swiftly, footsteps that he would know from anywhere, and his eyes widen. "Asami, I think I'm going to have to call you back."

* * *

A puff of sugar finishes the egg cookie, the scent of the white powder sweet and delectable to Jinora, and she adds another puff to be sure. Smiling, she places the sugar shaker back onto the counter and stands up. The kitchen smells of sweetness and deliciousness, the tray of freshly baked cookies warm in her hands. Sighing with satisfaction, Jinora uses airbending to flip the page of the cookbook. Ensuring she hasn't missed any steps—a single one could mess up the entire recipe—she closes it and sets the egg cookies to cool on the counter. As she airbends the flour, sugar, and crumbs from the counter, neatly bending them back into their proper containers, she sets about busily placing the rest of the ingredients into their proper places. Faintly, she wishes that her mother could be here to see how far her cooking skills have advanced, but Jinora's aware that there is Rohan to care take of now, as well as the injured Mako.

She's surprised by the pang of jealousy, and she distracts herself by nibbling on the edge of a cookie. Footsteps swell in the hall; Jinora glances at the door, a familiar man at the entrance, sniffing the air, his signature curl of hair falling over the right side of his face. "Egg cookies again?" he inquires, quirking an eyebrow. "Sweet as sugar I see."

Jinora smiles. "Good morning, Tahno. Would you like a cookie? What are you doing on Air Temple Island?"

"One question at a time, please." Tahno strokes one of the cookies with an index finger, slipping it between his lips to suck the sugar off suggestively. "I'm here to check up on my _dear_ friend, the Uhvatar."

The airbender blinks and tilts her head to one side. "How did you find about Korra?"

"I was there for the whole thing." He smirks. "The party couldn't start without me." Plucking up a sweet, Tahno takes a delicate bite. "I daresay you should start your own cooking show, little bird. These cookies are the best I have ever tasted." He winks. "And trust me, I've tasted quite a few."

Jinora blushes. Though she isn't sure of his intentions, she doesn't think he means any harm. "Thank you. Korra's fine. She was weak from using the Avatar State, but I researched it. That's normal." She thinks of the thick stack of tomes on her bedside stand, towering high above her. "Mako was hurt worse, but my grandmother healed him."

"An entire family of wonders. I suppose it's what happens with such talented benders around." Tahno inclines his head, flicking up and catch the final bite of egg cookie. "Well, well, little bird, do you think you could direct me to the Uhvatar?"

Her good mood is shot through with suspicion; she recalls Korra's angry reaction to his first appearance. "Why do you want to know?"

"I want to see how she's doing is all." He shrugs slowly, seductively. "A loser like that needs to be checked up on, eh?" Tahno pops the last of the cookie into his mouth. Jinora frowns and looks down at the tray.

"Could I interest you in a game of pai sho?" she tries.

He cocks an eyebrow. "I win, you take me to see the Uhvatar. You win, I show you how to make these egg cookies even better. Deal?"

Jinora considers, but she can sense him genuinely attempting to be a good friend. "Deal."

* * *

Her heart is flipping over itself, her world composed of a whirl of colours spinning round and round her vision, her stomach filled with lead, her lungs burning like fire, the fire she lost and found and lost again . She hates herself for being so weak, so dependent on Mako, so much of _wet rag_ without him, like he was the pillar upon which her entire existence demanded, and now, without him, she discovers that she stands on pillar of salt and pillars of sand. All she wants right now is her best friend, her true friend, the only one that loves her unconditionally: Naga.

She bumps into the stable door, not expecting it to open, the pain in her ahead unable to match the pain in her heart, and airbends it away from her, running into the stable, her vision blurry from tears but still able to see the mound of white that is her polar bear dog. Her knees buckle, her legs folding under her; collapsing to the floor, she falls on top of Naga, burying her face in the coarse fur, her fingers curling around hairs, her cheeks hot and wet. The sobs that she's been holding in come out of her now, tearing from her lips, hurting her throat. Below her, Naga shifts; Korra feels her nose, moist and cold, push into her hand, and she hangs onto the polar bear dog's head. Whining, Naga licks her face, her tongue rough yet oddly comforting against her cheek.

"Korra?"

She freezes, her veins filling with frost, pressing herself even more against her best friend's bulk. The universe truly despises her, or it's just her luck, but she can't face anyone now, especially not the brother of her boyfriend. Or former boyfriend. She doesn't even know anymore.

Warm arms wrap around her, drawing her into a hug; Naga follows her, padding along the stable floor to keep her muzzle in her palm. She feels herself pulled into his lap, her shoulders shaking from her crying, her face hot from her humiliation at being seen like this, weak and needy. But he says little, only holds her in a hug, whispering her name over and over like a prayer, and for some reason she trusts him more in that moment than anyone else.

She unravels in his embrace, the dam finally broken, all of her emotions and fears and hopes and dreams coming out at once, from the weight of her Avatar duties to the faceless councilmen to the terrifying visions of Koh she has been having. Unlike Mako, he doesn't ask, doesn't push, doesn't force her to tell him.

Just embraces her.

And she finds, in that moment and in all those that follow, that there is something more beautiful than Mako holding her.

Bolin holding her.

* * *

The city glows brown and gold, a siren wailing faintly in the distance, the stench of burning rubber and the freshly deceased drifting across the buildings and through the streets. A blue satomobile hugs the road as it races past, the black tinted windows betraying nothing within, the vehicle bumping up when it nears the curb, running over a body with splayed limbs, the sickening crunch of bone making Skoochy want to vomit. Quietly the street rat slinks through the muted alleyways, footsteps crunching the snow. He clutches his cap, keeping it on his scraggly hair, his gaze rapidly flicking to and fro, aware that the slightest misstep could result in his head mounted on a spear somewhere.

Skoochy swallows and looks ahead. One of the buildings ahead is still on fire, a family of four huddling outside on the sidewalk to watch it burn, the mother holding the hands of her three children. Or an elder sister. Or even a disjointed make-up family of random street urchins. One never knows. Their hungry, gaunt faces are highlighted in pale yellow from the flames eating up their homes, the turf war between the triads taking the greatest casualties amongst the innocents.

For a second or two he considers lifting his cap and producing the hard-to-find moon peaches he has been hiding all day, but Skoochy needs those himself. It may be his only dinner.

Playing informant in a time of war is dangerous even for him, especially in the middle of the day. A safe place until night, when a shadow with the form of a twelve-year-old may go unnoticed amid the shady dealings and dark actions undertaken when the sun doesn't shine and the hearts of those involved are as frozen as the ice around them, the chill of winter driving a desperation as never before.

Skoochy swears there's never been a winter as cold as this one.

He notices a dumpster up ahead, the lid lifted slightly, and quickly decides that a few hours spent among bags of trash would be safer than his current environment. Lifting the lid, the street rat glances inside and wrinkles his nose. "Guess they don't throw out roses here." As he dives into the dumpster, one hand still on his cap, he hears a shout from a few metres away. Popping his head out from the garbage bags, the rotting food providing warmth in the chill of the winter, Skoochy yells back: "What's it to you?"

"I know who you are, Skooch." A man's timbre. Skoochy knows the voice but can't quite attach a name to it; either way, it belongs to a Triple Threat. Formerly the weakest of the triads after Zolt's debending, the Triple Threats have risen in status now that Asokin has been captured, the Agni Kais dissolving into multiple miniature factions fighting amongst themselves for control of the criminal empire with a monopoly on the prostitute trade. "Do you know _I_ am?"

"A Triple Threat." Skoochy feels for the knife in his jacket nestled next to the yuans, the moon peaches in his cap suddenly far less important. "What you want?"

The man chuckles. "Protection. Hai sent me here to welcome you to our turf with open arms if you want us to." The street rat's fingers curl around the handle of the blade. "She thinks someone's going to try to kill you, if you didn't catch my drift."

"Who, you? 'Cause guys like you're all bark 'n' no bite."

"What's this? The informant needing to be informed?" A crunch in the snow, much louder than his, an unpractised thief but potentially a brute murderer. "Nah. I'm here on Hai's behalf to offer you shelter from the storm. Can't stop the rain, now can you?"

Skoochy snorts. "I can wear a hat. Stops the rain real nice."

"Spunky little kid, ain't you?" Something clicks, and the street rat immediately readies himself for attack, but nothing comes of it. "Just a friendly warning. Honour among thieves and all that."

"Ain't no one out here got honour," Skoochy retorts. "And I ain't going to go with Zolt's old call girl."

The man makes a noise in his throat, one that almost sounds like a threat. "Eh, it's your head that's going to roll. Agni Kais' under new management."

Skoochy sniffs and peeks up from the top of the dumpster. The man's dark green eyes bring a name to him: Wulin. "Don't care. Got news? Need it? No? Then scram."

Shrugging, Wulin turns about and starts back through the snow, his hands in his pockets. He calls back over his shouder: "You're dead, Skooch. And no one's going to be at your funeral is the saddest part."

"What funeral?" The street rat lets the knife slip back into his inner pocket and discreetly removes one of the moon peaches from his cap, shining it on his jacket, but the skin merely grows dirtier. When he bites into it, the flesh tastes too sweet, the overripe juices trickling down his chin. "If I die, there ain't going to be no funeral." Another bite; he slides down into the dumpster, settling himself between the bags of garbage for the added comfort and warmth, drawing the cap low over his eyes. "Got no need for one anyway. Ain't the viper cat's pyjamas or anything."

From somewhere far-off, perhaps one of the buildings above him, someone—a woman—laughs.

He sinks lower into the garbage and finishes off the moon peach in silence.

* * *

_Click_.

Tahno cocks an eyebrow at her, his index finger still on the pai sho tile.

"One more point for me, little bird." A smirk quirks the corner of his mouth. "I daresay I win."

Frowning from the other side of the table, Jinora stares at the pai sho board, going over the array of tiles, counting the harmonies and disharmonies. Remembering to keep her elbows off of the table, she makes a few strokes on her piece of paper carefully, counting the score, and her eyes widen when she sees by how _much_ he has beaten her; the best pai sho player in her family, she is astounded by how amateurish she was against him. The familiar padding of the chair supports her, and she relaxes into it once she is certain that he isn't trying to trick her. "You're amazing at pai sho."

"I'm amazing at everything," he responds vaguely, leaning back in his chair in a way reminiscent of Uncle Bumi. "So, did we have a deal or not?"

Jinora nods, placing the pen neatly next to the score sheet. "Of course. I'll take you to see Korra right away."

Tahno smiles, the quirk for once gone, and he sweeps the tiles back into the wooden storage box teetering precariously on the edge of the table, catching it when it falls from the weight and holds it up for her. She plucks the board from the wood and folds it, aligning corner to corner, and places it into the box. He closes the lid with a decisive clack, then settles back in his chair, clearly waiting for her to say something.

The door flies open with a bang of airbending. Riding in an air scooter is Ikki, her voice high-pitched, her words rapid-fire as she airbends herself around the room, whooshing along the walls and floor, casting a gale that picks up the wooden box and nearly flings it into the air but for an entirely unfazed Tahno immediately snatching it as it whizzes by him, his hair blown about in the miniature storm. Jinora squints from the breeze in her eyes and swirls a sphere of protective air around herself and him, protecting them from Ikki's bending.

"Jinora Jinora guess what trick Uncle Bumi taught me?" The girl's eyes grow large, and she drops to the ground in an instant, bending itself a soft landing. Her mouth open in an _O_, Ikki leaps up and lands sitting on the table in front of Tahno. "Ooh, who are _you?_" She waves her hand in his face. "I'm Ikki the airbender and this is Jinora my big sister and she's kind of boring because all she ever reads is sappy romance novels and—"

Tahno lifts a hand and presses her lips together. The slightest noise unnaturally loud in the sudden quiet, Jinora blinks and begins to put away the wooden box. "Ssh." Ikki bobs her head up and down eagerly, and he releases her; she flops backwards onto the table and grins.

"I like this guy. He's nice. Why's he is? Is he Korra's new boyfriend?" She giggles.

"Not at all." He smirks. "I'm just the Uhvatar's _friend_."

Politely Jinora intervenes, using airbending to suck her sister from the table and helping her land on the floor. Pouting, Ikki makes unhappy noises and crosses her arms. "Come on, Tahno. I'll show you to Korra's room."

Tahno slides out of the chair, rightening himself with a fluid motion akin to a serpent or a river of water, and gives Ikki a smooth two-finger salute. "Lead the way, little bird."

* * *

If there's one thing to be said about the protestors, it's that they are persistent.

Though the majority of the protest has calmed down from the raging surge of several days ago, the Citywide Association of Nonbending Persons is evidently intent on making the United Republic Council's job as difficult as possible, a miniature sea of tents sprung up seemingly overnight in front of City Hall, a handful of protestors up and about already, megaphones against their mouths, their battle cry audible even through the thick walls of the building, growing unbearably noisy when the doors open:

"We want equality! We want it now! We want equality! We want it now!"

Grimacing, Lin slams the doors to City Hall shut behind her, her armour clinking and creaking as she spins around and places her hands on her hips to stare at the council, the only missing member the recovering Avatar. Her eyes narrow at Wang Jin, waiting impatiently for his turn to have a say in the discourse.

Jiao is speaking, the Fire Nation diplomat's voice silky-smooth as always, like poisoned honey. "I daresay we have already seen the city under the leadership of a nonbender." He smiles, curling one sideburn with a finger. "The legislation you are asking us to pass is frankly ridiculous, and I doubt that any of it is practical." His warrior's wolf tail bobbing up and down against his head, Hado nods his head furiously, for once agreeing with Jiao. On the other side of the curved desk, Tenzin sighs. Lin wishes she could put a steadying hand on his shoulder as she has done so many times for him before, earthbend him a bench in the midst of nowhere, his one comfort in an ocean of madness and chaos.

Wang Jin flings a careless arm at him. "You have _three_ days!" he snaps, his beard bristling. "In three days' time, if a proper solution to the nonbenders' woes is not reached, the Association will have no choice but to strike back!"

"Is that a threat, esteemed Wang Jin?" Jiao counts, his smirk widening.

Hado butts in: "It is _illegal_ to threaten the city!"

"Hey, calm down." Bumi nudges the Water Tribe diplomat with an elbow.

The waterbender glares at the United Forces general. "Stupid nonbender."

Wang Jin opens his mouth to shoot off a reply. "Enough!" Tenzin smashes the gavel; Lin can sense the tension in his shoulders. "Yes, Wang Jin? What did you say about the solution?"

The leader of the Association holds up three fingers. "Three days. No more, no less. I will see you then." Swivelling about, his robes flapping noisily behind him, Wang Jin makes for the door but gasps in surprise and fear when he sees Lin, who pushes past him and makes for the floor.

She addresses Tenzin: "You called me here to give the council the full report."

Bumi leans in. "What's up, chief?"

"Is it that nonbending wench?" Hado sits up, his distaste for the female police chiefs momentarily forgotten in the hopes of gaining dirt on another powerful female.

Lin takes a breath. "We've no leads whatsoever—" Hado mutters something that sounds akin to _incompetent woman_. "—but we are confident that Sato has nothing to do with this." She allows her gaze to travel from one councilperson to the next, watching each squirm under its weight and severity. "But we did discover something."

Tenzin inhales. "What is it, Chief Beifong?"

"There are reports coming in from all over: Benders are being kidnapped." Her eyebrows slant for a moment. "And their bodies are turning up on the street.

"Faceless."

* * *

_Commercial break._


	13. Broken Ties, Part Three

_And now, a word from our sponsor: For some reason this didn't upload properly the first time I put it up. Sorry for any confusion, and I hope it works now._

_Everyone, a round of applause to my two fantabulous beta readers, Lucawindmover and D-Bronze, without whom I couldn't have done it. __Unfortunately, this is going to be the last chapter for a few weeks [the story__ is being put on temporary hiatus while my work continues to pile up]__. You see, the past month or so, I've been ignoring my real life, and let's just say that the deadlines have started to nip me in the bud. Consequently I'm taking a brief pause on writing this. Am I stopping this? Hell no, this is the best thing I've ever written. And when it comes back, you can be sure that I'm bringing in the kick-butt action.__  
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_And thank you _all_ who have supported me this far. My life's been a mess lately, and sometimes your reviews are the only thing that keep me going. Really, thank you._

_The United Forces Dating Hotline, for all of our proud warriors who just don't know how to get the ladies. Unsure what to say beyond barking battle commands? Flustered because your dates seem to revolve around destroying biplanes in mid-air and invading the enemy's defences? Worried the love of your life isn't one to be impressed by your giant . . . ship? Then call the United Forces Dating Hotline today!_

_Back to the show._

* * *

It'll be nice to forget her own problems and focus on someone else's for once.

The clank of boots on the metal floor of the ship alerts her, and she glances back, noticing Iroh waiting for an acknowledgement a metre away, his uniform as crisp and proper as always, his hair slightly mussed from the wind. "Thank you for taking me to Air Temple Island."

He bows. "It is my pleasure, Miss—_Asami_." She smiles. "It is the least I can do; you saved my life."

"Beifong saved your life," Asami corrects, warmth spreading through her in a way it hasn't for months, the feeling so bittersweet and familiar she turns away to look at the island, a frown stealing onto her face before she can stop it. The last time she arrived here she thought that Mako was going to be the one for her, forever. She remembers the weight of his arm curving protectively around her, hugging her to him, assuring her that it was going to be okay.

How wrong she was.

How very, very wrong she was.

"So did you . . ." Iroh hesitates, shifting his weight, the tips of his boots tapping lightly once on the metal as he rolls on the balls of his feet. She can sense him about to speak. "Asami, I—"

"I think we're almost at the island." Asami looks at him from the corner of her vision, noting his slightly surprised and crestfallen expression. "I should get ready."

To his credit, he nods curtly and steps aside, allowing her to walk past him, though she feels his gaze on her back. She's cold for a reason she cannot fathom. Rubbing her arms, Asami reflexively touches the sash around her waist, reminding herself that she _has_friends, that she isn't alone this time, dependent on the comfort of her father and later on a man who broke her heart.

As much as she wants to dance this waltz with Iroh, she doesn't know if she has much of a heart left to give him, isn't sure that she can trust anyone with the remains ever again.

"I'm sorry." Asami pauses and turns back to gaze at Air Temple Island, growing closer and closer, a sense of foreboding fuelling a pit in her stomach, and she returns to the railing.

Iroh coughs. "Pardon? Are you all right, Asami?"

"I'm fine, Iroh." The wind lifts up her hair once more, caressing her face, but this time she isn't soaring but falling off of the cliff-side, the ground toppling and dropping away beneath her feet, the formerly stable stone transformed into dust. "I'm fine."

* * *

Though the city above is shining still with the light of the sun, the labyrinth of sewers stretching beneath the buildings and streets knows naught but night, never-ending night, deep and dark and suffocating but for those who walk amongst the shadows and feel no fear, the water lapping at their feet not a beast to drown them but salvation.

Within one of the larger chambers, several statues of stone shark rats strewn about the sewage, the crowd of Red Monsoons mills, waiting for their leader to speak. He stands atop a stage of glistening ice waterbent up from the ground, his arms and face bloodied, a squirming shark rat in his arms. The creature arches its back, slicing its sharp fin into Shakku's chest, but the Red Monsoon drops the beast and dances backwards, wearing nothing but a loincloth to protect himself from the cornered animal's wrath. The shark rat leaps forward, opening a maw filled with daggers of teeth angled inwards. Whatever enters its jaws will not come out again. Shakku dives down, allowing himself to slip under the creature's mass, and twitches his fingers, a blade of ice freezing into place within his palm as he kicks upwards, hitting the beast squarely in the stomach. Hissing, the shark rat soars across the stage, scrambles to its paws, and jolts at him again, livid wrath in its beady black eyes, its scaly finned tail swinging back and forth as it moves. A ferocious inanity in his blood-splattered face, Shakku howls as he fearlessly flings his arm towards the speeding shark rat, allowing it to do its worst.

Speedily the creature kicks up water from its bounds, one, two, three, and then leap. It jumps up, flying through the air, nostrils flaring with the fragrance of blood infused into the atmosphere. Shakku merely opens his palm, the blade of ice caught between two fingers. The blood coursing through the beast's body informs of its exact motion, a split-second future-sight. His eyes narrow suddenly; the Red Monsoon raises his arm and brings it down in the space of a second, the knife digging into the shark rat's head between its eyes. The rest of its body swings down from its momentum. His hand snaps out like a zebra heron's neck, the nails digging into the slippery flesh of the tail. The shark rat flails, crimson spurting from the wound on its head, its limbs too short to reach him. His mouth open with his panting, Shakku forces the animal down onto the floor of the stage, the water morphing into a dull pink.

Cacophonously, the audience bursts into applause and cheers, clapping onwards, those sprayed with blood in the front envied by the rest, the shouting and pleading for more, more, _more_ vibrating the chamber around them.

* * *

When she awakens, disorientated, she doesn't immediately know where she is. Her limbs are cramped, her neck even worse, but she doesn't want to move from the comfort and warmth of her current position, something soft all around her, warm breath on her neck. "Naga," she whispers, moving to scratch her behind the ear, but instead she feels skin and fabric, and her eyes snap open. Green tan black red white _green_.

Whatever is holding her flinches. In her confusion and fear Korra punches it—a gut?—and airbends herself away only to be halted by another mass, one that barks and lets her know that it is, in fact, Naga. Shaking her head and blinking swiftly, she rubs her eyes and looks up to see a very bedraggled-looking Bolin lying on the floor with Pabu on his face, knocked over by her stream of air. "_Bolin_?"

"Why is everything red?" he mumbles, abruptly sitting up when he fully awakens, the fire ferret plopping into his hands. "Pabu?" He blinks, his hair messed up from the wind, his curl still bobbing against his forehead, and glances up, his eyes brightening. "Korra?" He looks perplexed. "Why am I over here?"

Korra ogles at him, realising her surroundings to be the stables, the rumbling of sleeping sky bison a few stalls away. "What's going on?"

"I was about to ask you." Bolin grins sheepishly and rubs the back of his neck with his left hand. "You came in here and looked so upset. . . ."

"I was upset?" She glances at Naga, who nuzzles her cheek gently, whining softly. "Hey, girl. I'm sorry you're not sleeping in my room anymore." Korra scratches her head, and the polar bear dog licks her face. "But you know Mako thinks you smell." _Mako_. She gasps suddenly, her argument with the firebender coming back to her. "Mako!"

Bolin cocks his head. "What?"

"Mako." Her heart pounds. Korra collapses into Naga's fur, drained. "We had a fight."

"But you're okay now, right?" He lurches to his feet and walks unsteadily across the room towards her, clearly still somewhat sleepy. Stroking the polar bear dog's flank gently, Bolin sits down next to her, folding himself into a cross-legged position. She hugs her knees. "Right?"

Korra shakes her head. "I think . . . I think I broke up with him."

"You _what_?" She's hurt by the shock on his face, but he quickly throws her arms around her, hugging her fiercely. "What happened?"

She squirms away from him, and unlike Mako with his insistence to find out every last thing about her, Bolin lets his arms drop, returning them forlornly to his lap, and unlike Mako with his rare displays of affection, she knows that another embrace is waiting for her if she leans in. Or asks. Or merely peeks at him with sadness on her features.

"I don't know what happened," she admits, squeezing her knees tightly to her body. Her hands run subconsciously over the thin scars from the rushed shaving jobs, her middle still recalling the painful squeezing from the tight dresses he asked her to wear, her feet twinging from the shoes, and even now she feels ugly and unnecessary in her boots, baggy pants, and turtle ducknecked shirt. "He was scared of me because . . . I went into the Avatar State, and then I couldn't control it." Unable to bear the thought of Bolin being disappointed, Korra looks away, towards the wall, towards the floor. Pabu squeaks. "Mako was looking at me like I'm a monster or something." Terrified, she swings her head back to stare at Bolin, grabbing his hands, his eyes expressing nothing but trust and hope and _friendship._ "I'm not a monster, am I?"

He lets out a laugh, and she pulls away, fighting to keep the hurt from showing on her face. "Are you kidding me? 'Course you're not a monster. You're Korra. You're the bravest, strongest, tryingest girl I know." Bolin smiles and nudges her. "Come on, I believe in you. Remember when you thought you couldn't airbend, either?" Lowly, Korra nods. He grins. "But I knew you could. And you did!"

"Yeah, it only took Amon taking my bending away and almost killing Mako." All of those months chasing Mako desperately start to settle on her. All of the pain she felt watching him spend his life with whom she thought was the wrong woman. All of the pain Asami must have felt watching him fall in love with her. Not with her, but with rescuing her. Korra closes her eyes. And for what? A failed relationship spanning a couple months?

"Hey, so you couldn't master the Avatar State in three seconds flat." Bolin touches her shoulder, and Korra glances at him. "But you know what? None of the Avatars did. Not Aang, not Roku, not that lady with the crazy fans."

A small smile parts her lips. "Kyoshi. You mean Avatar Kyoshi."

"Yeah, her. She made an entire new _island_." He whistles. "That's some pretty powerful bending. But you're going to be even _more_ powerful than that. Like I told Mako the first time I saw you—before I even knew you were the Avatar—there's something special about you." Korra feels a blush rise to her cheeks. "And you're okay now, right? You'll master the Avatar State, and then you'll be _unstoppable_!"

She nods and scoots closer to him, something about his laid-back position calling to her. "Hey, how's your metalbending, tough guy?"

Bolin smiles sheepishly. "It's coming." He exhales. "Not." Reaching out to touch his knee, she frowns. "Every time I _think_ I get close to metalbending, it's like there's this block stopping me from _really_ metalbending. And now that Sifu Beifong's been working on the case with the councilpeople, she's sort of postponed her morning classes. Without them, I'm just a big, useless lump." His face is brightened by a grin, the kind of grin that makes the world a little lighter. "But at least I'm getting good with seismic sense."

"Apparently not good enough to sense me." The stable door creaks, and Naga lifts her head at the same time as Korra and Bolin; Asami leans against the doorframe, smiling gently. Pabu leaps from Bolin's lap and runs towards her, curling himself around her ankle and arching his back into her leg, purring. Laughing, she reaches down to scratch the fire ferret behind the ears, eliciting even louder purrs from the red puffball.

"Asami!" Bolin waves her over and she allows Pabu to scurry up her arm and nuzzle her neck, nestling himself in her hair.

For once Korra is unbearably, indescribably glad to see her. She glances at Bolin. "Hey, do you mind if Asami and I talk really quick?" She can already imagine the response, his tongue touching the roof of his mouth on the _N_, his lips forming the _O_, that protective expression that appears so often on Mako's face, darkening his eyes for a moment, his mouth becoming a thin line, his eyebrows turning into a _V_, the irregular corners conveying his anger more than any part of him except perhaps for his voice, sounding betrayed, hurt, agonised as if her very question had tortured him beyond belief, like the entire world had ended and the only thing that could set it right was her immediate apology.

But instead Bolin shrugs and leans back into Naga's soft fur, the polar bear dog licking his face, causing him to laugh. "No problem. Go ahead."

She is more grateful for that than she could ever explain, and she settles for a shoulder squeeze, the same shoulder that she healed those months ago at one of their pro-bending matches, when he injured his shoulder enough for a thin ring of blood to escape the confines of his pro-bending uniform. "Thanks." Korra stands and gestures for Asami to follow her outside of the stables, the door oddly stable and solid beneath her fingers, like it has more substance to it than she does.

She never thought that Asami would be her friend, not the kind of friend that she has become, the closest she has to a sister. As soon as she has stepped outside, the sudden blaze of sunlight necessitates a lifted hand to block out the extra infusion of light. "Korra, what's wrong?"

The genuine concern in her voice and in her green eyes—concern at its core completely and wholly unconditional, concern that isn't based off of a current love or a past crush or anything, concern that shouldn't even be there considering that Korra destroyed her relationship with Mako—makes Korra feel more wanted than almost anything else.

It's funny that both of the people who are the nicest to her both have green eyes.

"You used to date Mako," Korra starts, and Asami narrows her eyes.

"Korra, please don't tell me you think he could still have feelings for me." She shakes her head and puts a hand on her hip, bringing attention to her new sash straddling her hips, accenting the curves.

Korra gives her head a shake and laughs. "No, no, it's not that. Actually, I wanted to say . . ." Her heartbeat is up tenfold. Nervously she wipes her suddenly sweaty palms on her fur skirt.

"What's going on?" Asami reaches out to take her hand, their fingers lacing, and the feeling of another hand in hers calms her, soothes her quick pulse and her quicker breathing. Her eyes glimmer with worry and encouragement. "You know you can tell me anything."

"I know." Korra glances up at the sky, ruefully wondering why her past lives can't help her with her greatest enemy: Her love life. "It's just—" She can't quite explain it. Right now, if she tries to go speak to Mako, she's _sure_ that she can set it right, apologise over and over, give everything she's got to their relationship. But she's tired of giving, tired of fighting for their love, tired of the uphill battle each and every day to make him stay with her and not go off to the next beautiful, protection-needing woman around. Still, it's not final—nothing's final—it can all be repaired—until she _says_ it. And that's the thought that causes the words to die at her lips.

Asami squeezes her hand. "Just what?"

She glances up at the nonbender, the image of Mako's terrified expression flashing through her mind, and she focuses on her friend instead. Asami appears framed by the sun, casting a glowing halo around her profile, the blue sky stretching out behind her like the ink from a broken well. "I . . ." The words yet refuse to come out, something in her innards tightening and twisting, a sharp knife wedged in her belly and shaken by an unseen hand. But she knows she's stronger than this, and she pulls away from her friend to gesture wildly with her arms, the flurry of motion making up for the lack of confidence within her. "Asami, I broke up with Mako."

Her friend's smile surprises her, as though she were _laughing_ at Korra's misery, and the Avatar stumbles backwards, her entire life crashing around her, a cloud of dust puffing up around her, eliciting cough after cough. Immediately Asami offers her a hand, pulling her up and brushing the dust off. "How do you feel?" she asks quietly.

"Light-headed." Korra tries to laugh it off. "I thought you'd want to know. Since you like him and all." The moment she says it, she regrets it, but she can't snatch it back now, her stupidly blurted turn of phrase free as a bird.

Asami plucks a wiry blade of grass from the Avatar's hair, flicking it onto the ground. "Are you kidding me? Korra, I'm over him." She smiles, and Korra is shocked to see her cheeks redden faintly. "I think I've found someone else."

"Who?"

Her green eyes shine like emeralds, the expression on her face almost the same as the one Bolin gives Korra on occasion. "Remember the United Forces general?"

Korra blinks. "Iroh?" Her friend nods, the blush deepening, and Korra lightly punches her shoulder, barely able to keep herself up from the wave of relief rolling over her. "That's great. Anyway, just wanted to let you know about Mako." Asami purses her lips slightly, about to speak. "What?"

"Do you remember what happened with you in the Avatar State?" she questions pointedly.

A sudden anger flares in her chest. "Why won't people leave me _alone_ about that?" the Avatar snarls, her hands balling involuntarily into fists, her knuckles cracking with the sheer force of the clench. Pabu squeaks with fear and hides in her hair. "I already know I messed up! Whoop de do, worst Avatar in the world, right?"

"Stop that." Her friend lifts a hand as though to slap her, and Korra pauses, breathing through her mouth. "I meant . . . do you know who got you out of the Avatar State?"

She raises her eyebrows, her fury vanished and replaced with surprise, recalling the scream—_his_scream—that brought her from her stupor. "Mako?"

Asami laughs. "No, Korra, _not_ Mako.

"Bolin."

* * *

If he could have anything in the world at the moment, it would be a bolt of lightning straight into his chest.

Closing his eyes, Mako buries his face in his palms, smashing the pillow into his thighs with his elbows. Angrily he pounds the cushion, tossing it into the air and wrenching it out of shape, flames springing unbidden to the tips of his outstretched fingers. His ears ring at the pillow tears along a seam, exploding in his face, charred turtle duck feathers puffing him in a storm of white. Coughing, Mako waves his hand in front of his mouth, sending the feathers spiralling away from him, the less burned ones curling softly in the air, the ashen ones dropping like stones.

"She's the Avatar, and I'm an idiot." He allows himself to fall back onto the bed, mentally throwing himself over a bridge for his own stubborn stupidity. "How was I supposed to know she was going to get that upset?" Groaning from the effort, the firebender props himself up on elbow and stares distantly at the closed window, willing it to open from the push of his gaze, but it stays firmly shut, much to his annoyance. "She could have given some warning before she dropped that on me. Right, I just smacked you into a wall and nearly broke your spine, but I'm going to ask you why _you_ love me." Sighing, Mako crosses his arms and braces his shoulder blades against the back of the bed. With his right hand he unconsciously pulls his scarf over his mouth, inhaling the scent, one that no longer carries his father's scent but that stills calms him down.

"Maybe she asked because you've been acting like a jerk, jerkbender."

That voice. Cocky, smug, self-assured. Mako sits up in a second, his amber eyes narrowing and darkening at the image of the former pro-bender leaning nonchalantly against the door, glancing at the nails of his right hand, uncoiling himself when Mako notices him.

"What are you doing here?" the firebender snarls, scrambling out of the bed and instantly raising his arms in defence, a flame blazing in his palm.

"Don't get your scarf into a twist." The former pro-bender sneers. "Be careful getting up, loser. Don't want to sprain anything. It's not every guy who gets kicked around by his lady like a paper sack."

His rage threatens to boil over as it always does whenever he finds himself in Tahno's presence, as if the _former_ Wolfbat carried an aura of anger about him. "Get off of my island, Tahno. _Now_."

The waterbender glances back and forth, putting a hand mockingly to his cheek. "I had _no_ idea this was _your_ island. I've never seen your arrow, after all." He arches his eyebrows. "Unless you'd like to . . . show me?"

"I don't need you creeping around. Korra already gave you back your bending. What else do you want?"

Tahno runs his tongue over his lower lip. "I'm merely here to see the Uhvatar. No need to zap me with your little sparkler." He laughs. "Besides, don't you remember what happened after your girlfriend showed just how weak you are?" Mako fights to restrain himself, forcing himself to remain calm, breathing through his nose, recalling his cool under fire approach to pro-bending, all of the times he soothed Bolin and Hasook—and later Korra—before a match. "Oh, right, you were unconscious by then." Tahno's tone has taken on the tone used to speak to infants. The firebender grinds his teeth but allows him to continue, not bothering to get upset over it. "I had to carry widdle baby Mako all the way out of there, since your former girlfriend and your loser brother were busy carrying the Uhvatar."

Mako's eyes widen. "You carried me out? You were _there_?"

The waterbender shrugs. "Guess it's my turn to be the good guy, right? You've had your chance, sparky. Now step aside and let me show you how a real pro does it."

He takes an unsteady step towards Tahno, his limbs still aching from his injury, a dull throb settled into the base of his spine. "I'm wounded at the moment. Taking me on would be cheating."

"This isn't pro-bending anymore, Mako-man." The former Wolfbat makes a slow shrugging movement. "All's fair in love and war. Isn't that right, heartbreaker?"

"How do you know about that?" Mako snaps. "I don't need you scrutinising my love life!"

"Well well well. I don't need you scrutinising my reasons to hang around after saving the Uhvatar's life." Holding on to the door as though it were a pole, Tahno swings himself in the most suggestive way possible, waving a hand dismissively. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I've a date with the Uhvatar."

Mako watches him as he leaves, wishing he could burn through the waterbender's back with his burning gaze.

"A jerkbender." He exhales, thinking of Korra's tears, and immediately berates himself. "I'm _still_ an idiot. But what am I supposed to do?"

* * *

The shark rat is screaming.

The noises tearing from its open maw are strangely human, the rapid breaths and twitching limbs almost like that of a man about to die. The tail whips back and forth, thumping frantically against the stone. His teeth yellow-white against the brown of his skin, Shakku smirks at the poor creature writhing under him, his blue eyes glittering with the thought of the shark rat's heart shuddering in the beast's chest.

Abruptly there comes a yell from the back of the crowd, loud enough to be heard by Shakku. The leader of the Red Monsoons lifts his head and glares at the audience. He closes his eyes for a moment and clasps his hands in front of him. "Spirits, let it be mine daughter, finally come to her senses at last. Please, spirits, for you I sacrifice this shark rat tonight." His eyelids fluttering, he looks back at the new arrivals. When he sees her—barefoot, her hair scraggly, her form shivering like the weak, fragile little girl she is—his heart sings with happiness, more joy flooding him than if he were to be given complete control of the city.

This, being here with the only family he has left on this world, is the truest happiness he could ever experience.

"Mine daughter has returned!" Shakku crows triumphantly, and his people erupt into cheering of every kind, a massive ovation of clapping hands and stomping feet. "Koko, come and partake in the sacrifice to the spirits so that they might give you the strength they have given me!"

The girl raises a shaking arm, and a wave of water swirls up from the ground, moving over the heads of those in the crowd and pausing next to the stage. Her eyes closed, she steps off of it, allowing it to crash behind her.

Shakku smiles and gestures towards the shark rat as the crowd continues to applaud, whistles and noises of approval rolling over him like a tidal wave. Aware of his daughter's distaste for the pain of animals, he hopes that this time she will not be afraid, that this time she will feast upon the creature's heart, that this time she will become a true Shark Rat. "Come, daughter mine, share in the wealth the spirits have given us. Share in mine power, in mine strength. Eat the heart of the shark rat!"

Koko takes one careful step towards him, her face reminding him of her mother before she passed, the same soft cheekbones, the same peak in the hair, the same rounded button nose, but with something shadowed within her indigo eyes. Nonetheless, he waves her over with careful, fluid motions. Her movements bring to mind a coiled viper cat, ready to spring, muscles stretching to their full lengths in a firestorm of tooth and claw.

Below him the shark rat continues to struggle, growing weaker by the moment as the blood continues to dampen the fur on its shell, dripping down into the water. Koko gazes at him silently, almost judgmentally, and Shakku wonders what is going through her mind, her expression entirely blank.

"Father," she inquires, her tone soft and warm as silk. "You are the greatest bloodbender in the world."

The leader of the Red Monsoons smiles. "Yes, daughter mine."

Koko's eyes sparkle, and she tilts her head inquisitively to one side. "But you told me that bloodbending can only be done under the full moon."

"Other than the _scourge_ that twisted it about and destroyed the spirits' domain—" The word leaves his lips like poison. "—I told you truth."

"You lied." Her voice tinkles, the silver bells' tintinnabulation swelling.

Shakku hesitates, frowning. "Daughter mine, have the spirits possessed you?"

"You lied." She lifts her arms up. "You are not the most powerful bloodbender in the world."

"Koko, I do not—" Then he feels it, the blood in his veins slowing, stopping, running the other way, his heartbeat erratic, irregular, and then no longer there at all, the sole sound he can hear his own shrieks silenced, leaving him limp and ragged, at the mercy of his puppetmaster. Shakku fights against himself, his eyes squeezed shut, his every tortured breath another attempt to change the course of his own blood, but his body is beyond his control. His eyelids are forced up, his eyes bulging painfully as he ogles at his own daughter, a girl of ten, controlling him—_him_—Shakku, the Shark Rat of the sewer—the leader of the Red Monsoons—the most powerful bloodbender in the world—

He suddenly realises he is not breathing, the blood in his jugular pounding agonisingly, but he has no mouth and he must scream. Sable shades eat away at the corners of his vision, becoming black as the icy night he once considered his lover, his light-headedness beginning to get to him. His lungs burn with fire, his body frozen with ice, his mind fading away from him.

Beneath him, the dying shark rat wrenches out of his grip, sharp claws slashing him. The pain shoots through him, but he does not move, held in place, the blood in him replaced with the physical manifestation of fear itself.

Koko smiles. "You lied, Father."

The shark rat twists about, the blood from the wound still spurting, lessened now, a few drops splattering his face. Its tail thrashes weakly, and it stares up at the former hunter turned hunted, and the shark rat roars, snorting air into its snout, and opens his maw. Slamming its tail on the stage, it flips its three-metre-length up, its jaws spread wide, and engulfs Shakku's head whole.

She watches quietly as the shark rat snaps his fangs together, attempting to bite through her father's neck, and she says nothing. Moving quickly now, Koko waterbends herself forward and takes the ice blade from him, holding it carefully in her fingers.

"You told me to eat the heart of a shark rat." She presses the knife to his sternum, wanting to finish it while he is still alive, and she pushes it into him, his bones cracking and coming apart. With a shiver of her fingers, she pulls the meat and muscle away, revealing the heart, dead and still. "So I will eat the heart of the Shark Rat." Her hands shake as she tries to cut through the arteries holding it within his chest cavity, but she cannot seem to cut through it, and so she clenches her fist, and the heart shears itself free.

And then Koko lets her puppet free, and the shark rat's jaws come together with a _clack_.

Nothing has ever tasted so sweet or so delicious than the heart of the Shark Rat, of the man who has abused her and used her all of these years, of the man who killed her mother.

Then she turns towards the crowd and smiles brightly. The Red Monsoons stir. Someone in the back demands for her to be put down for killing Shakku, but Koko merely lifts a hand, feeling his blood at her fingertips, and she closes her fingers.

A gasp runs through the audience.

Koko continues to smile.

"Koko!" Amongst the crowd is one lone voice, somewhere in the front, loud and important. "Koko, the greatest bloodbender in the world!"

"She can bloodbend without the full moon," agrees another, shouting back.

Without glancing backwards, Koko heals the shark rat's wounds, returning the blood to its veins and healing the skin with the water afforded by the crimson liquid; though it may yet die, she might be able to pull it through. Weakly, the beast falls upon her father's meat, devouring it, its massive gullet churning with the flesh caught in its razor teeth, its whispers twitching speedily.

The chant starts, swelling as the rising tide: "Koko! Koko! Koko!"

Koko says nothing but laughs, silver bells tinkling.

And the Red Monsoons start to clap and applaud and cheer, repeating her name over and over until it no longer her name but the sound of the tsunami flooding the world.

For it _will_ flood the world.

Behind her, the shark rat rears, roaring from the pain of the injuries Shakku inflicted upon it and the primal thrill of the blood seeping down its jaws. It lands into the water and the liquid splashes her, droplets in the ringlets of her hair.

A few Red Monsoons cry out from fear of the hulking animal stalking towards her, but somehow she senses that it will not hurt her, having recognised her as its saviour, and she turns about towards the shark rat, its beady black eyes carrying a faint hint of molten sapphire, one she never noticed because she never looked.

She never noticed she could bloodbending without a full moon because she never looked.

But now she will look.

For in the game of triads, she wins or she dies.

* * *

Written by

**Flutflutflyer**

Directed by

**Lucawindmover**

**D-Bronze**


End file.
